Hope's Colors
by twLucy31
Summary: 6x01 alternate ending - Before the Ghost Riders can take him, Stiles starts the Jeep and drives away with Lydia.
1. Blue

_What is she doing here? Her feet brought her out of the woods and yet, she feels lost. _

_Lydia remembers packing and calling a taxi. She remembers feeling a little disorientated on her way from the inn to the bench in front of her. She remembers everything. Well, almost…_

_She knows what she has to do: drive back to Beacon Hills and find Scott. There's also a small piece of paper in her pocket._

_It's folded four times. As if it's holding a secret. _

_In a way, it is... because she remembers writing _Wild Hunt_ on it a few minutes ago and there's a dizziness inside of her she can't shake off. The sickening sensation that it doesn't make sense. _

_That something is missing._

_As she walks to sit on the bench, she tries to not think about the last three days. Despite some inconsistencies, the last minutes are clear in her mind but she can't focus on what might have happened before. _

_She can't remember. It doesn't make sense. _

_Tears of frustration prickle her eyes and she stands up. Something pulls at her heart, compelling her to look back at the small path she just took, but there's nothing – only the trees and the faint breeze ruffling their leaves. A pang of sadness overwhelms her, chasing any other emotion away and leaving her once again with the certainty that something is missing. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she winces at her sore shoulder. _

_When did she bruise it? _

_She tries not to give it too much thought and remembers the green and yellow suitcase on the bench. The moon is full, and its harsh light accentuates that incongruous color. Lydia frowns, trying to remember when she bought a suitcase in a color so far away from what she usually likes. Her mind dives into her memories, but only comes up with more questions. She can't remember buying it, and she can't remember traveling around Canada as the dozens of stickers on one side seem to suggest. _

_She wants to scream in frustration, but she closes her eyes and a voice rings in her ears. She can't understand what it's saying, but it soothes her. When she opens her eyes, she knows something is missing._

_She stands still, staring at the suitcase in the silence of the night. It's not a first for her mind to be confronted with such a situation. It is used to dealing with memory lapses. Usually, she tries to find something familiar and it helps her unravel the events. The problem is that there's nothing familiar around her… _

_Except when she turns around and looks at the forest – at that moment, a warm peace spreads through her._

_Everything else is foreign, cold and hostile. There's a straight road bordered by trees. It vanishes farther away in the horizon to her left and right. The bench is along that road with a sign indicating a taxi station. Behind her, the small dirt road plunges into the forest. Lydia doesn't know where she is or what time it is. There's no one else, she doesn't have her purse and her phone is gone._

_And there's that suitcase… She is afraid to open it, afraid to find out what it contains._

_Her fingers brush the folded piece of paper in her pocket and she takes it out. With a loud groan, she realizes for the second time that she can't remember why she wrote those words. She has to remember, it feels important for some reason. _

_Sitting down on the bench again, she scrutinizes the words, looking for something she could have missed. She breathes in and out several times with the clear impression that the wind is breathing with her, helping her lungs to expand to welcome fresh air. When she feels calm enough, it suddenly hits her that the Wild Hunt must have something to do with the Ghost Riders. That single idea is enough for her to find a faint light in the fog cluttering up her mind. She focuses on that, trying to remember everything she can about the Wild Hunt. The puzzle is slowly taking shape before her eyes, but still… _

_Something is missing. Something is missing and she doesn't know how much longer she can handle the pain. _

_As she looks down, she realizes that the blue hoodie she is wearing isn't hers. It's too big, too worn out, its scent is both familiar and foreign. It makes her smile, a soft and nostalgic smile that doesn't come across her lips very often. Someone told her once it was her secret smile, a smile she doesn't even realize she is making. It's the one she uses when she doesn't want others to know whose invisible fingers are grazing her lips and warming her heart. Because that smile isn't meant for just anyone. Somehow, she knows it's meant for the missing part that left a hole shaped like regrets in her heart. _

_The hoodie must belong to someone taller than her, the sleeves are so long that they cover her hands. She brings them to her nose and breathes in the scent, closing her eyes. There's a voice with that scent, even if she can't remember it, she knows that there is one and it brings back her smile. She feels as peaceful as if she had found the missing part in her memories and it gives her enough courage to open the suitcase._

_She puts the hoodie over her head and zips it up to her chin. The feeling of protection she gets from being engulfed in that scent and warmth is incredible and she smiles even bigger. Carefully, she opens the suitcase, one latch at a time._

_Her eyes catch a flash of orange in the right corner: Reese's. Her hand is shaking when she takes it and shivers run down her spine. She tears the paper open and puts a piece of chocolate in her mouth. It melts on her tongue and she tightens her grip on the hoodie, trying to bring the fabric closer to her skin. _

_There's nothing else of interest in the suitcase. Most of the clothes don't remind her of anything and she even begins to wonder whether or not – just like the suitcase – those clothes actually belong to her. Yet, she recognizes a black romper with flowers she bought a few weeks ago._

_She closes the suitcase and glances around again. The road is empty; still no sign of her taxi. Heaving a sigh, she stands up and absentmindedly gnaws on another chocolate. Her brain isn't trying to fill in the gap in her memory anymore and seems to bathe in some kind of bliss state, but her heart is still beating erratically, as if trying to draw her attention. _

_Something is still missing._

_Tears well up in her eyes and for a moment it feels like she will never know happiness again if she doesn't immediately go back to the inn. She felt soothed when she found a small piece of familiarity, whatever it was. But it feels worse now, because her heart still aches, and her brain won't listen to it. _

_A feeling of panic overwhelms her, and it's not one she is used to. It's not the panic she knows when she wakes up from her fugue states in some unknown place and with the fear of finding a dead body. This panic is different. It starts in her stomach, it forms a lump that goes up to her throat and chokes her, forcing tears down her cheeks. She knows what it is – she is heartbroken. Despite all the gossip, she has known heart breaks. _

_But never like this. _

_The sensation of loss is so strong that it reminds her of Allison, of those damp tunnels, and she crumples into tears. She thought she had found something to hang on to in those tunnels, but the feeling that it had slipped from her fingers and is now out of reach is crushing her. _

_There's no one around, so she lets her cries of desperation fill the night. They travel along the road and lose themselves in the distance when they don't echo against the trees and merge with the wind to come back to her ears just as loud. _

_Lydia huddles up on herself, desperate to cover her ears and sits on the ground. She buries her face in the hoodie, trying to lose herself in its scent, but failing to recreate the peace and quiet she felt earlier. When she realizes her tears could wash the scent away, she feels another kind of panic swamping her. Shaking, she stands up and takes the hoodie off quickly, repeating "No, no!" with such anxiety in her voice that it does nothing to soothe her. There's dirt on the back where she leaned against the bench and with frantic gesture, she tries to beat it clean._

_She sobs more and more violently, not controlling anything. Her tears make everything blurry around her, so she doesn't see the silhouette running to her. She doesn't see it, but she feels it. A presence. Something that attracts her eyes and forces her to turn around. A sensation that makes her heart leap with joy at the realization that it has been right there all along. It beats stronger and stronger, she feels its pulse in her ears and against her temples, even in her throat. With a smile, she wonders if it doesn't want to jump out of her chest to melt into that other heart. The one that belongs to the young man running to her and calling her name in a cry that sounds like what the wind was carrying earlier. The light of the moon could turn that silhouette into something threatening, but it doesn't. It only reminds her that this time, she must not stay still. _

_Images from a distant memory flash before her eyes. She is both on that empty road and on a Lacrosse field. A monster with angry red eyes is throwing itself at her from behind, and the same silhouette hastens to get to her first. Finally giving in to her heart, which is screaming in her ears and tensing her muscles, she runs toward the silhouette, not turning back in case the monster is actually there. She knows she's running, but she doesn't feel it, she doesn't feel the ground underneath her feet__**. **_

_She sees his face now, his eyes, his lips, she sees him… And the word "Stiles!" escapes her lips in a desperate tone. She doesn't know what it means. It's a word her heart seems to have made up to describe the void that had started to gnaw at her soul. When they collide, it's the most brutal and soft sensation she has ever experienced. His scent wakes her up from what seems to be a vivid nightmare. His voice against her ear, his hands on her back and in her hair… It's soothing and suddenly, she can't remember why she was sobbing in the first place._

_His arms are strong under her hands and around her waist. She hangs on tight, afraid she would crumble under the strength of her emotions._

_When she raises her head to meet his stare, something twinges in her heart because his face is bathed in tears, just like hers. She repeats what she knows as his name, wondering how she could have forgotten it and it comes again. That secret smile appears on her lips. She says his name again, and again, and again, letting herself drown in the sensation of his hands in her hair, his fingers cradling her face to bring her closer to him. His kisses are wet and hurried on her forehead, against her temples and she answers with the same desperation against his neck and on his jaw._

_The same words graze her ears, again and again, "Lyds, I'm… I'm so sorry, so sorry… I shouldn't have, I need you too much. Please, forgive me…"_

_And she cries. She cries because she doesn't want to live that nightmare ever again. She cries because she hadn't forgotten him, but she had forgotten the taste of his skin, the weight of his body and the warmth of his love. It had all turned to shadows though he is everything but a ghost. He is full. He is whole. He is her miracle. _

_He is hers, and she is his._

_The taxi probably comes by at one point, but neither of them cares because that road is suddenly the most beautiful place on Earth._

_"__Stiles," she eventually whispers when their bodies aren't trembling anymore and they are able to breathe normally. Raising her head from his neck, she stares at him. His eyes are filled with so much love that she loses track of her own thoughts, just like that day on the floor of a dusty locker room where a different light had underlined the curves and angles of his face the same way. His fingers keep caressing her face and she clutches harder at his waist. He pulls her forehead against his and closes his eyes. "Don't you ever do this to me again. Do you hear me?" Her voice is still shaking, just like her entire body. Lydia feels his lips on hers, but it's barely a brush, so furtive and faint that she probably imagines it._

_Stiles slowly shakes his head, "Never."_

_He keeps her in his arms long enough for her to collect her wits. Lydia feels the last residue of her nightmare leave her mind with each exhale. She isn't sure if she wants to know exactly what happened, she likes her memories better._

_How could she have forgotten?_

_How could she have forgotten that three days have passed since the night Stiles has been almost ripped from her arms? The night when Stiles could have been erased from her memories just like he has been erased from everyone else's._

_Three days have passed… Three days that should have been made out of a few hours in class, three diners at home, and some meaningless conversations filling the empty hours with that substance making everything else vibrate a little more. _

_Those seventy-two little hours have merged with each other to create a mass in Lydia's memory. A mass blending her fears, her anxiety, and her constant tiredness. Those hours have stretched on for centuries, frayed until she thought they both would stay prisoner in them forever. Only one thing has kept them together, given them some consistency__**. **_

_Stiles._

_The fear of seeing him vanish from one second to the next. The fear of startling at the next lightning bolt ripping across the black sky, then turn to find a void where Stiles was supposed to be. What would happen then? Would she realize someone was missing next to her? Her mind refused to imagine that possibility, even out of a sense of danger. _

_Even today._

_But even after all the pain and suffering that followed, she would still make the same choices. Nothing in the entire world would convince her to change them. If she could start over, if someone gave her the possibility to go back in time and let him be taken away to find a much simpler solution, she wouldn't. She would make the same choices over and over again. Even with the knowledge that a difficult time awaits her, she would make the same choices. Hour after hour, second after second._

_Because that night, three days ago, Stiles had needed her._

x

In his eyes, Lydia found what she has been desperately looking for since a monster has emerged from the darkness of his mind to steal his soul.

She screams his name, and she thinks she recognizes something in his eyes when his beautiful stare falls on her. A spark that she thought had vanished forever, a treasure manhandled by people who should have never been allowed to touch it. For a moment, she finds the Stiles she has known her entire life and with him, she finds hope.

It's not the first time something like this happens, but there's something different about tonight. She finds him as he is running out of high school and they rush up into each other's arms. Giving in to a primal instinct, she tells him she won't leave him, she won't let him be alone. The spark in his eyes grows bigger and he doesn't answer anything. Not with words anyway. In that moment, Lydia realizes that he may have managed to save that treasure from all the demons and clawed monsters, from all the coyotes and other carrion eaters who had rushed to his weakening body. He saved it, put it somewhere safe and let enough clues in his wake for someone attentive to find it. She has followed the trail and she thinks that maybe… Maybe it has always been her. Maybe all those half-smiles and hidden tears he kept leaving behind him have always been for her.

That night, she makes a promise to herself. She will follow the trail until the end. Whether she finds him with his arms opened, or looking in another direction, she will go all the way to bring him back. Like she should have done the day of the sacrifices. Many times, she has told herself that if she had been stronger that day, she would have managed to pull him back without leaving an open door in his mind, she would have been able to stop the demon. This time, she wouldn't abandon him to the darkness.

Later, Lydia would realize that this resolution to protect Stiles wasn't new. It had appeared the day the teacher had swapped her floral dresses for a black one when she had told the eight-year-old kids that Stiles wouldn't be back in class for a little while because he needed time to say good-bye to his mom. When she heard those words, Lydia's stomach had knotted and she felt tears prickling her eyes. Death was that great unknown, a void that couldn't be filled, even with screams. The only question that would never be answered. There weren't a lot of things that made her dizzier than that idea, even more so when she was a kid. The thought of Stiles being forced to stare into that boundless emptiness and forced to find an answer had made her want to cry for days. Her mom had taken her on a Saturday to visit him. She wanted to give him an answer, she always had them in class. But nothing had come to her mind. When he had come back to school, she hadn't let his constant sarcasm fool her. She had understood he wanted to pretend that everything was fine, so she had played along. But sometimes, she felt the weight of his stare on her. There was something almost unbelievable in that stare.

He had found an answer.

She would stare at him back sometimes, just to see if she could decipher the answer too. She couldn't, but for a few seconds, his brown eyes would light up and in those moments, Lydia understood something crucial: sometimes, the illusion of an answer was just enough. So, she smiled at him, as if to tell him everything would be fine and as her lungs would expand, she would see him exhale all his accumulated tension.

Lydia kept doing this during the ten following years, sometimes unconsciously looking for his eyes in the crowd and in the hallways to reassure him, make him understand that whatever the questions in his head were, he had found the answer.

This is why it feels so easy for Lydia during those three days to help him stay grounded. If she is the last guardian of his memory on this earth, his last shield before darkness, she needs a will of steel. There is no space for her own fears.

Later, that resolution will be what she remembers the most clearly.

It doesn't matter whether she is safe or not, she has to save Stiles.

It doesn't matter whether he asks for help or not, she would help him because he needs it.

She sees it in the way he keeps casting worried glances in the rear-view mirror that first night, in the way he sometimes presses his foot harder on the accelerator pedal, and in the way his shoulders startle at a noise she can't hear. It's the first time something like that happens to her, the first time she can't hear a sound. It awakens old fears inside of her, the sinking feeling to grope around in the dark for the switch while the invisible monster under her bed waits to grab her feet. Except the monsters are real this time.

After a while, she understands that Stiles startles when he hears a gunshot, and after hours watching his knuckles turn whiter by the minute on the wheel, his eyelids get heavier and heavier, the reality hits her – the Ghost Riders are not trying to catch them. They are playing with them, teasing them like the lion teases the gazelle, knowing very well that all it has to do is wait for its prey to fall exhausted.

Lydia wonders if it's just sadistic, or if there's another reason underneath. They could have shot the car from the beginning and it would have erased them both. Maybe they can't because they are still invisible to her eyes? That mere idea is enough to make her blood run cold, but at the same time, it helps her keep her resolution alive. It's further proof that she is the only one who can save Stiles. She is the only one standing between him and oblivion. She won't allow him to disappear and she will find a way to bring him back to Scott, Noah, and everyone who matters.

x

They don't have any legal papers, they don't have any money or food, but as Lydia drives for the first time to let Stiles get some rest, she realizes that none of it matters. It doesn't matter because when she looks at his sleeping feature against the window, she catches glimpses of an eager hand caressing his cheek in the moonlight, as if the night or the Moon herself was reclaiming her due.

She won't allow it.

In those moments, she speeds up to find shelter in the shadows of the trees along the road, keeping him away from the light, keeping his body safe. If there are no lightning bolts in the sky, she stops for a little while and watches him sleep. She finds comfort in the knowledge that in this instant, the most dangerous creature is herself and that she would do anything to protect him.

The night had him once, not twice.

She won't allow it.

x

At one point, they made the decision to follow the road that would lead them to the lake house, hoping they would find a copy of Lydia's papers and some money. Driving back to Beacon Hills is out of the question. It's something that Lydia can't even picture and that Stiles eventually stops suggesting. She will save him, and she won't let him face the trauma of not being recognized by Scott, or by his own father... not again.

When she heard that story, she couldn't find it in herself to muffle her sobs.

After a first night spent driving as fast as possible, praying for the Jeep to not break down in the middle of an unknown road and leave them at the mercy of the Ghost Riders, they sleep for a few hours on the back seat next to a gas station.

Lydia is cold and hungry, but nothing would take her away from Stiles's arms at that moment. Without noticing, she falls asleep against him until a violent down pour wakes them up. She shivers and he gives her his hoodie.

The blue one.

The one she could claim as hers given the amount of times she has worn it in the last months during their nocturnal adventures in Beacon Hills.

The one that still smells like him.

He tells her in an undertone about his father's reaction and about Scott; both of them looking at him like he was a stranger asking for directions.

Stiles hangs on tighter and tighter to her as he talks.

No, she doesn't want to be safe. Not as much as she wants to save Stiles.

x

The rest matters so little that she doesn't even wince the first time she steals food, or when she manages to get them into a motel room without paying so they can sleep a few hours in an actual bed and take a shower.

Stiles's discomfort, however, is written all over his face. Lydia knows where it comes from. All she has to do is meet his gaze to understand. He wears the same expression he used to wear during those dreadful months after Allison's death: guilt. He blames himself for putting her in danger and in situations that could send her to prison. Lydia doesn't have to ask him, she already knows what's in his mind. She knows that beside the Ghost Riders who could annihilate them in a snap, there's everything else…

The probability that someone will report her missing, for starters. If she was found with Stiles, a teenage boy without identity, he would be taken into custody in Beacon Hills and nothing would be easier for the Ghost Riders than to take him from there.

Stiles has found a solution, she knows that. But she also knows that she doesn't want to decipher that one. That solution will take him away from her, she can read it in his eyes. So, she smiles at him, then looks away.

x

One day, the Jeep breaks down on a road in the middle of the forest. Without GPS or a map, it's impossible for them to know where they are. They walk for long hours on the road, and when night falls, the landscape is still the same. There isn't a single cloud in the sky and yet, lightning bolts tear apart the sky, forcing them to run and hide in the forest.

Eventually, they come across a tree house where they are able to take shelter. Stiles is even more worried than Lydia has ever seen him. Her heart breaks, her chest shrinks and forces the air out of her lungs. So, to divert herself, she blows on the ashes of her new found hope and it's enough to help her forget about the rest. In the end, she will save him, and everything will be alright.

They don't sleep the entire night.

When the danger has passed, they nibble some dry fruits and protein bars to trick their stomachs into believing they are full.

The adrenaline rush as stopped, yet Lydia's head spins so much that even in a seated position, she has to lean on Stiles, letting herself melt against his chest and his welcoming warmth.

She readjusts her legs and as she turns her head, she catches the way he is looking at her and she stays locked in his gaze. No words are exchanged, they don't need any. Their eyes contain them all. _I'm lost without you. I love you so much. How do you do it? How do you always help me forget about everything else that isn't you?_ Stiles opens his arms and without a sound, they curl up against each other, closer than ever.

"Do you think they are gone?" she asks, eyes fixated on the first ray of sunshine that casts their shadows on the ground in a square of light.

Stiles tightens his embrace around her and lays his cheek on the top of her head. "I think so, yes. You can sleep, I'll watch over you." Lydia notices how hoarse his voice is. She doesn't know if she is allowed to like it, or if it's a sign of unshed tears.

So, just in case, she shakes her head and nuzzles closer to him. "No, you sleep… And when the sun is high enough, I'll sleep too."

But neither of them sleeps, rather they just keep trying to convince each other to close their eyes.

As the first birds sing, they stop talking. Lydia can't shake off the feeling of being an intruder and wishes she could shrink back until she isn't bothering them. There's a split in the wooden ceiling and she silently gazes as the stars slowly fade in the sky. Behind her, she feels Stiles's body tense and jolt slightly, as if he was trying to muffle sobs. She leans with her whole body against him without saying anything, taking in her hands the ones he had shyly laid around her waist and she squeezes them.

Wordlessly, she breathes deeply, trying to communicate her own rhythm to his body. She can feel him trying to follow her and once his sobs are gone, they breathe the same air. Lydia doesn't even realize how intimate this is until she becomes aware of his warm and sweaty body clinging to every inch of her own. Even through their layers of clothes, she feels him entirely and she wonders if getting addicted to someone is a thing. Yes, probably. She keeps caressing his forearm, lulled by the sensation of his chest raising and falling behind her back, imprinting its movement into her. His cheek is against her temple, protected by his breath tickling her ear and neck. She feels his lips right above her ear, whispering a faint "thank you" before lingering there in a kiss that echoes in her entire body and makes her shiver to the tip of her toes.

"Are you cold?" he asks her, pulling her even closer to him, his voice still wet from tears.

"No, I'm fine." Lydia closes her eyes. She is overwhelmed by his warmth, the one that shines right from his heart and it's probably the best sensation she has ever experienced. But then she feels him straightening and has to let out a light gasp of protest when she no longer feels his body against hers.

"Hold on a sec... I'll give you my shirt to cover your legs."

"No, I'm fine, I promise. I already have your hoodie, you're the one who'll end up freezing."

Turning around, she sees his eyes shine with some unshed tears, but a smirk lights up his entire face. He takes his plaid shirt off, leaving him in a simple black shirt. Black suits him, that's a thought that crosses Lydia's mind more than often. Black accentuates the spark in his eyes, it makes them even more magnetic. She smiles back and realizes she doesn't want to stop herself.

"I'm never cold, don't worry."

Then, he leans against the wooden planks again and pulls Lydia against him, not shying away and laying his hands on her stomach, awakening the hundreds of butterflies that were born the day she had given him his breath back. She doesn't resist him, feeling like a rag doll in his gentle hands, wishing for her body to melt into his to be sure no one would take him away from her. He straightens his legs and covers hers with his flannel. The fabric feels like a caress on her skin, heavy and soft. Nothing can distinguish their two bodies anymore and Lydia sinks with delight into the cocoon Stiles has built around her with his magic.

When a blue jay perches on the edge of an opening in the wall, probably a former window, they try to remain still, so as to not scare it. The bird flies away after a few seconds during which, Lydia has the feeling that time freezes.

"If I was superstitious, I'd say it's a good omen," asserts Stiles. His tired voice and its vibrations reverberate in her back.

"Why?"

"Blue jays are supposed to bring light and hope during hard times."

They don't speak for a little while, always trying to get closer to each other by moving a hand or titling a knee. Lydia's stare loses itself in the sea of green outside the tree house.

"Lydia?"

"Mmh?"

"D'you…" Stiles clears his throat. "Do you remember the Winter formal?"

A small laugh escapes Lydia's breath. "Of course." She is immediately overwhelmed with the memory; a nice warmth spreading everywhere inside her and creating new waves that make the butterflies in her stomach flutter higher. She slightly tilts her head to tuck it deeper under his chin.

"Did you know you were the first girl I ever danced with?"

Each word is pronounced with so much deference that it only adds to Lydia's need to crawl under his skin, to keep him by her side until the end of time. So, she turns with her entire body, leaning her left side against him and laying her ear over his heart. She encircles his hip with her arm, grabbing his hand on her knee with the other one.

"I didn't know that," she whispers with a smile in her voice. "It was nice. I had never felt so comfortable in someone's arms. Safe. As if… As if I could just relax because you weren't expecting anything from me." She gnaws at her lips, feeling her heart follow the erratic beating of Stiles's. "You know, we could… We could go to prom together… Would you want to?"

Stiles doesn't answer, but his heart races, and Lydia smiles. She tilts her head up to see the look on his face, but before she can meet his eyes, his lips are on her forehead. His eyes shine, but there aren't any tears anymore.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

A shy smile makes its way on her lips and she nuzzles against him again, lowering her head until she finds the beating of his heart against her ear.

"Do you remember the song?" she asks him after a little while, knowing she doesn't have to elaborate.

"Would I sound cheesy if I say yes?"

A silent laugh reverberates through his chest and she shakes her head. "No, absolutely not…" She waits a little and adds, "Would you sing it to me?"

Against her temple, she can feel him gulping down slowly. His fingers fidget against her knee. "I… I'm not sure I remember the lyrics."

She scoffs and whispers, "Liar…" Her lips brush his neck, and she starts filling dizzy again. Maybe it's the hunger, or the tiredness. Or, maybe it's just Stiles. Either way, her lips linger a little and she kisses his skin, right on his pulse point. It keeps jumping.

After a deep breath, Stiles tilts his head down until it covers Lydia's and he begins to sing, humming the few lyrics he remembers and making up the other ones. Lydia feels his arms around her. They tighten every time he sings the line: _you're_ _not just a girl_. To Lydia, it seems like Stiles is saying that it's not just a song, and that's more than okay with her. That's what she is telling him when she intertwines their fingers and brings them to her lips.

When the light more precisely outlines their shadows on the ground, they start to fall asleep.

Right before being engulfed by a dream-less sleep, the memory of Stiles in her own bed during the last months comes back to warm Lydia up a little more. She remembers trying to convince him more than once to stay with her when he would sneak into her room through the window instead of going ghost hunting in the middle of the night. He only said yes a couple of times, telling himself that he had to protect her. Staring at the ceiling and stealing glances from the corner of her eyes, she never slept a lot during those nights. Stiles didn't either. They always ended up talking in the dark, filling the space between them with whispers that were worth all the caresses she had ever known.

When the sun would filter through her window, she never failed to realize that what she had mistaken for Stiles's hand in hers was nothing more than his pillow case. But her disappointment never lasted long because he seemed to always need to lay his arm over hers, numbing said hand. Still half asleep, Lydia would turn slightly to distance herself from Stiles... just a little. She wasn't ready to let the sun paint their intimacy with its brilliant colors, but she wasn't worried either. Whatever her decisions were in the daylight, she knew the moon would always help her fill the space between and around them with more promises.

But today, the moon is an enemy and there's no room for new promises.

Today, it's time to stop giving their words and start keeping them, removing the layers between them, one at a time. It's time to dissipate the fog that used to protect them, but that feels now more like an obstacle preventing them to truly look at each other.

Lydia brushes her lips against the skin of his neck – again and again – in the shiest kisses she has ever given. His entire body answers her: his heart when it echoes her own beating, his veins when they pulse against her skin, his breath when it sends shivers on her skin and his lips.

His lips that kiss her somewhere between her ear and her cheekbone, reaching a place somewhere behind her scars. Reaching her hope. Reaching her soul.

Then, it hits her – It had never been more obvious.

_She doesn't want to be safe, she wants to save Stiles._

_Because she can't live without him._

_Because she loves him._

And nothing has ever felt more important than those words, so she says them.

"I'm going to save you, Stiles." She _almost _says them.

"You already did," he whispers so faintly and yet, it couldn't be clearer.

He got them anyway.


	2. Green

Stiles is the first one to wake up. Lydia's body weight against him has kept him warm, and despite a hunger that doesn't seem to go away, he has never felt so good. It's the first time he feels her body rise and fall against his, following his own rhythm and movements and that mere realization is enough to make him count his fingers, just in case. A few strands of her hair are tickling his nose, but he does nothing to tuck them away. Instead, he absently plays with them and lays a faint kiss on her forehead. She doesn't wake up, but a little noise escapes her lips and Stiles smiles. He knows that light noise.

He perfectly remembers those few nights during the previous months, when the moonlight had reflected in her green eyes to bring out the hope she was trying to hide in the daylight. Those nights when she had returned his own gaze, and Stiles hadn't been able to find it in himself to leave her bedroom. Those wonderful hours when he had hushed the self-conscious and scared teenager inside of him to make room for the one Lydia needed. He remembers never knowing what to do with his hands on those nights, always shyly laying his arm next to hers and leaning to kiss her temple as she was falling asleep. At that moment, that same sweet noise would escape her lips, making Stiles smile and stare just a little longer.

After that, he could fall asleep (even without his pillow). But never before.

Before, they always talked, confiding all their secrets in the night. Stiles would wonder if Lydia was able to hear all the declarations of love that were disguised behind his words, if she could hear all the promises they held. He would wonder if – just like him – she was aware of the cocoon they would build around them in those moments. A cocoon that protected them from the rest of the world, all the while keeping them apart from each other with silent promises that neither of them dared to keep. Yet.

Today, as the square of light on the floor is reduced to a thin line caressing Lydia's cheek and nose, Stiles realizes that the veil between them has started to tear open, allowing him to stare at her perfection without any thick fog around her.

He closes his eyes, trying to keep his breath stable to avoid waking her up with the same sobs as yesterday. Why is the universe so cruel? Why let them bond like that now? What had they done in a former life to deserve only a few months of blissful tranquility?

When he had heard her say his name two nights ago, Stiles had felt his heart beat harder than ever. If they hadn't been in danger, he is sure he would have told her the right words. Stupidly, he had thought the connection between them was strong enough to keep him on Earth a little longer.

But there are moments…barely a few seconds, sometimes a few minutes, but never more than two… There were moments when Lydia _forgets_.

He sees it in her stare. It suddenly turns glazed; her eyes widen and work to study everything around her – to try to understand where she is. Those moments never last long enough for her to realize what's happening, but all of them are imprinted in Stiles's memory. Each time, he catches himself hoping it will be the last, but he knows better. It was probably the first lesson life has taught him. In those moments, he can't help but think about him mom, about what his dad must have been going through and it scares him just as much as it gives him hope.

Because even if his mom died, she died with both their names on her lips.

Because even if Stiles could tell the difference between the sounds of the empty Scotch bottle and Vodka bottle when they would hit the ground, his dad would still wake up with a more confident smile every once in a while.

He can't explain it, but his mom is around sometimes, watching over them. When he was a kid, Stiles had managed to convince himself that death had given his mom her memories back, that as she had been able to remember them at the last minute, she had passed some kind of test and was now allowed to come back to visit them with her memories.

His mother had been buried in a green dress, the color of hope according to a Polish aunt he had never met. Young Stiles didn't think it could be a coincidence that Lydia's eyes were the same color as that dress, so when she had looked at him intensely that Saturday, he knew the answer he had found was the right one. Just in case, he had never told anyone. It was between them. Somehow, he thinks his father knows too. The undeniable proof is the light crooked smile on Noah's lips when he thinks or talks about her now.

He knows what he has to do. It's scary, but Lydia's memory lapses aren't like his mother's because there's something he can do about them….maybe. There's something his mom must have never forgotten, or she would have ended up leaving the house. She must have remembered she was home with Stiles and his father. She must have remembered how much they loved her.

So, Stiles understands that if his memory ends up slipping through Lydia's fingers, the only way he can get back to her is if she can remember the love he feels for her. He doesn't feel anything stronger and more rooted inside of him anyway. Sometimes, he thinks that's what he has always been made for: loving Lydia, giving her all of the love she needs, in whatever form it should take.

He has to make her remember the voice of his silent love. She can hear it. He has hope that she can hear it. All those times when, if his eyes could have talked, they would have filled her ears with _I love you's_. Those times when, if his fingers could have painted in the air, they would have invented the most beautiful colors and bring them right into her dreams.

Deep down, Stiles knows that confessing his love to Lydia isn't just about being able to get back to her. It's an instinct. Both of them have already died too many times without him finding the courage to tell her. He can't take it anymore. His former desperate love has sprouted into something hopeful that can't be ignored. It's not something he can keep for himself, he has to let it out so it can grow bigger, brighter… Stronger.

Lydia stretches against him, turning slightly to seek more warmth as she's waking up. Only listening to his instinct, Stiles brings his legs closer around her and circles her head with his arms, nuzzling his nose in her hair against her cheek. He can feel her hand tightening around his waist, and she opens her eyes. They are so close to each other that he feels her smile before he can see it.

"Hi," she whispers as she lays a light kiss on his cheek.

Stiles straightens up a little bit and cups her cheek without even realizing what he's doing. Her eyes are so green in this light, so beautiful and vibrant, as if she's trying to commit to memory every single detail of his face. It coaxes a smile on his lips. She can't forget him, it's written in those eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks her in a soft voice.

She nods and is about to open her mouth when the sound of a car in the distance freezes both of them. Their eyes widen as they stare at each other.

"There's a road!" Lydia eventually says in a voice still hoarse from sleep before standing up a little too quickly. She gets dizzy and has to lean on the wall to keep from falling. Stiles rushes over to her, but his vision falters. His hands grip at her waist, not just to hold her, but to help him stand. They would have to find actual food, quickly.

The sun is high in the sky, signaling the beginning of the afternoon, as they start walking. That means they should have time to get to the road and hope they will find someone, anyone to help them. At that point, Stiles doesn't really know what to wish for. Their first priority has to be to find food because he doesn't know if he'll be able to stand the sight of Lydia on the verge of fainting any longer. It breaks his heart every time; even more when he thinks that deep down, it's his own fault. He shouldn't have looked at her in the Jeep that first night. If he hadn't, maybe he would have been able to let the Ghost Riders take him and none of this would have happened. Lydia would be in the warm safety of her house.

A smile makes his way on his lips because if he's right about the hour and the day, he knows exactly what she would be doing at the moment. He loses himself for a few seconds in the vision of a smiling Lydia, biting her lips as she discreetly goes to their table at the back of the high school library. It's a small table, there's only room for two, but Lydia still chose it the day they had been assigned together for a paper in history class. From that spot, you can see the entire library, but no one can see you. They kept going back to that table, even though they both know they could use a bigger one because sometimes, they help Scott or Liam with their homework. Stiles likes it even more when that's the case, because Lydia brings her chair closer to his and she tucks her knee against his thigh. Sometimes, she even bumps playfully against him when he's being too sarcastic with Liam and she's being too polite to laugh. She nudges her knee against his leg, he looks at her with a crooked smile. She smiles too, biting her lips a little. It's her secret smile. He told her that once in a bold speech that still impresses him to this day.

Lydia falters a little against Stiles, and he is brought back to the present. He notices her shallow breathing and it breaks his heart a little more. Without a second thought, he takes her by the arm to help her stand. He can feel her relax and lean against him. After a few seconds, her hand glides from his forearm to his hand, her fingers making their way through his own so they end up holding hands. As they walk slowly, Stiles can feel Lydia's body leaning more and more heavily against his own and he can't help but relishing in that feeling. It's wrong for so many reasons, because he's not supposed to find anything good about this situation. Yet he does. Lydia isn't feeling well, she could collapse against him… His heart shouldn't race like it does.

Out of nowhere, they eventually find a dirt road that must have been used not so long ago. Hope bursts into Stiles, it forms bubbles inside of him that envelop his empty stomach. Lydia exhales against him, her body weight even heavier and when he turns to look at her, she looks so pale that it drains him completely. He helps her sit down against a tree.

She's beautiful, even when she is exhausted and pale as death. She's beautiful, and Stiles silently scolds himself for having those thoughts. She must be the reincarnation of some ancient deity because in that instant, with the leaves casting moving shadows against her skin and the sunlight playing hide and seek with the spark in her eyes, she looks like she has always belonged there, in the forest.

As she's regaining her breath under his encouraging stare and shaking hands, he sees her hair turning brighter and her eyes getting that emerald shade he loves so much. As if Nature itself was sharing its color with her. Her eyes are locked on his, and Stiles can't shake off the impression the somehow, he's helping her breathe. He could stay like this forever, kneeling down in front of her, holding her hands and simply looking at her, admiring her doing something as mundane as breathing.

But Lydia winces at some point and it triggers some sense of urgency inside of him. He casts a quick glance around them, but there's nothing: no fruit, no water… And let's face it, he has no clue how to survive in forest. So, he gives her the last of his raisins with some words he hopes will comfort her. She looks like she wants to object, but she's so tired that she eventually eats them one at a time. Her vision is starting to blur. Stiles can tell by the way her pupils are dilating when she is trying to focus on something. He reaches for his bottle to give her the last drops of water, but she pushes it away in a very slow gesture.

"No… You," she manages to utter while clearing her dry throat.

Stiles gently cradles her cheek and smiles at her. His thumb lingers at the corner of her mouth and his heart leaps in his throat when he feels her lips turn slightly upward in an adorable smile. "Lyds, you have to drink, or you'll faint. I don't want that, okay?"

He tries again to bring the bottle to her lips, but she shakes her head and pushes it away one more time.

"I won't," she insists, closing her eyes and reopening them.

She reaches to take the bottle and give it to Stiles, but she's too weak and winces again. As tears begin to well up in her eyes, Stiles moves to sit down next to her and pull her against him, encircling her with his arms and stroking her hair.

He feels her head getting too heavy against his chest. "Lyds, don't fall asleep, you have to stay awake," he whispers against her ear. His voice seems to startle her because she suddenly lifts it from his chest to look at him.

When she speaks, her voice is still too weak and slow, as if she could faint any second. "You have to drink, Stiles, I haven't seen you drink in so long."

"No, it's al-"

"Stiles, please… I drank more than you yesterday," she cuts him off and lays her forehead against his cheek to reach the bottle. Stiles can feel her eyelashes fluttering like they weigh tons.

"Alright, I'll drink, but you eat at least half of the last protein bar then. Okay?"

She nods against him, and her hand doesn't move from the bottle as he reaches to drink. His fingers linger against hers, caressing her hand slowly and lovingly, knowing they are both staring at their hands. She nuzzles her head under his chin and as his brings the bottle to his lips, he feels her hand against his neck and torso, lingering over his heart. They don't say anything, but Stiles knows she is hearing everything his heart is trying to convey with its erratic beating.

He takes the protein bar out of his pocket and feeds it to her in small bites, aching with her as he sees her fighting against herself to swallow it down.

"I know, Lyds, but you have to eat," he tells her in a low voice when he sees her blinking back tears after the second bite. "Just try to relax…or you're not going to be able to keep any of it down… Okay?"

He kisses the top of her head, massaging her neck and silently blaming himself over and over again. When she has eaten half of the bar, he folds it in his pocket and keeps her close to him a few more minutes until she breathes more easily. In that time, his lips never leave her skull.

"Thanks," she nuzzles closer and gingerly brushes her lips against his jaw. "As much as I would like to stay here, we should go before it's too late."

Stiles brings her closer to him one last time. "Yeah, you're probably right".

They stand up slowly and Stiles keeps his hands low so Lydia can lean on them or grab them when she feels like she's losing her balance.

He holds her up through every step they take, trying to forget about his own dizziness and the distress signals his empty stomach is sending him. The only thing he can focus on is how important it is that Lydia stays awake. So, he talks and talks, rambling about things he knows will make Lydia react, inventing equations for her to solve and asking her questions about their last physics class, even though he understood everything.

She is reciting the periodic table when Stiles cuts her off, his heart leaping in his throat and a smile bursting out on his lips. "Lydia, look!"

Hoping with every strength he still has that it's not a mirage, he makes out a house and a parking lot in the middle of the trees. It's just a little farther away from them. The moment her eyes catch sight of the house, Stiles feels her crumbling against him.

"Lydia!" he gasps before catching her by the waist and sitting her gently down. He can see two or maybe three cars in the parking lot. He starts calling for help, feeling his heart beat too loudly and too strong against his ribcage…and then in his throat.

Eventually, he sees two silhouettes rushing to them. His voice gets stuck somewhere, and he swallows thickly.

Black dots invade his vision.

As he collapses against Lydia's unconscious body, he's vaguely aware of a silhouette bending over them.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, the first thing his senses register is the color green. A very light apple green that engulfs him, making his mind bathe in mild vapors that graze his skin and fill his nostrils with a scent he can't name. It reminds him of the herbs Deaton used to help him sleep after the Nogitsune. He closes his eyes, letting himself get carried away by a sense of well-being, feeling his body floating above everything.

A faint but familiar noise compels him to open his eyes and turn his head. Beside him, Lydia is sleeping peacefully. Her features are less drawn and there's the hint of a smile on her lips. He wants to straighten up to get closer to her, but his entire body protests and he lies back down, wincing.

Taking the time to look at their surroundings, he notices they are in a room with green walls. It's rather small, only furnished with a bed, a desk, and a closet. The window is open to the forest. From his position, he can see the birds and hear them singing. He catches himself smiling at the simplicity of the setting. The door is open on the opposite wall, allowing a pleasant draft to pass through the room and giving life to the blue muslin curtains. The late afternoon half-light is soft, and it occurs to Stiles that he hasn't felt that peaceful in a long time.

From the corridors, he can hear footsteps and hushed voices. As he turns his head, he sees a face appearing at the door. A woman with grey hair smiles at him when he meets her stare. With quiet footsteps, she comes closer to him as he tries to sit up again.

"Careful," she whispers, reaching out to him. "I'm Millie. My husband found you and your girlfriend in the woods. Do you think you can stand?" Stiles doesn't even register the word _girlfriend_, leaning on Millie and trying to sit up without fainting.

"Mmh," he nods once in a sitting position and smiles at her, unable to utter more than one syllable at a time. He wants to ask her questions, but his tongue is as dry as if someone had tried to make him eat sand.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to the common room. We have dinner ready for you."

There's a grumble in his stomach following that statement that makes Millie smile warmly. But Stiles's stare instinctively turns to Lydia behind him. The woman seems to understand and smiles again. "Don't worry, we'll bring her to you as soon as she wakes up."

Stiles nods without adverting his eyes, "Could you give me a few minutes?" he asks after clearing his throat.

"Yes, of course."

Mille steps out of the room after making sure he drinks a little from the glass of water on the desk.

When he is alone with Lydia again and his head isn't spinning anymore, he takes the time to look at her. Soon after, the calm he felt is replaced by a muted anguish that slowly paralyses everything inside of him. What if she wakes up without any memory of him? A few tears roll down his cheeks at that thought. He tries to wipe them off, but his hands are shaking. He hasn't told her everything yet. In fact, he hasn't told her anything. What if he gets taken without her knowing? The thought hurts him, and heavier tears land on the white sheets.

In her sleep, Lydia turns her head towards him, and he can't resist the urge to touch her skin, barely grazing it and following the outline of her cheek to her chin with his index finger. The soft light leaves half of her face in the dark and brings out the paleness of the other half; a paleness that contrasts with the warmth of her skin and the bright color of her hair. He smiles despite himself.

His finger skims against her chin and a faint moan escapes her parted lips. It makes Stiles's chest swell with hope. It envelops his heart and chases all his fears away. He has to keep hope, he has never doubted her and can't start now. She has been so strong, so determined to not leave him alone…

But yesterday's memory still weights heavy on his heart.

They had climbed into the tree house, and Lydia's empty stare had frozen him. It had been the first time she had talked during one of her amnesia episodes, and her voice had been so cold and quivering he had barely recognized it. Before her memories had the chance to come back to her, she had looked at him with a terror Stiles had wished he would never inspire her again. He had reached out, completely unaware of the Ghost Riders' gun shots outside. It hadn't mattered at that moment. If this was the last time Lydia was looking at him, it couldn't be with those eyes.

"Lydia, Lyds… It's me, Stiles…" He had tried to soften his voice as much as possible but hadn't been able to erase the tremors and desperate tears from it. She had instinctively taken a step back when he had moved forward, her hands clenching around nothing and looking like she wanted to disappear into the wall.

"They are going to kill you," she whispered.

His stomach suddenly turned into stone because those words were somehow echoing inside of him. He hadn't been able to muffle a loud sob and let his body collapse against the door as she closed her eyes.

Then, she broke out of her trance and rushed over to him to whisper comforting words to his ear, promising she wouldn't let the Ghost Riders catch him, that she wouldn't forget him. She remained unaware of what just happened, but her words hadn't been enough to erase the last seconds from his mind. Even if she was able to remember him, she would never forget everything she had been through with the Nogitsune because of him.

When the Ghost Riders left, he wasn't able to hold his tears any longer.

Lydia tilts her head slightly, offering one strand of her hair to the light breeze. Stiles leans over her to tuck it behind her ear, so it doesn't disrupt her sleep. When his fingers brush against her ear lobe, she leans towards his hand. His name escapes her lips in a whisper that echoes so loudly inside of Stiles that it gives his hope a new breath, leaving him with nothing more than a smile on his lips and a lightness in his heart.

He has to keep hope. He owes her that.

With a last loving glance, he slowly stands up and heads towards the corridor.

Millie is waiting for him a little further away. She reaches out to help him when she sees him leaning against the doorframe. As she walks him to the common room, she explains that she and her husband have been running the inn for twelve years. Most of the clients are people who want to take a step out of the world for a few days, weeks, or even months. The inn is ideally situated in the middle of the woods, but not far away from the main road that clients can reach through a small dirt road. The one where her husband found them.

Before running an inn in the forest, Millie was a nurse, which explains why she was able to take care of them so well. With a genuine smile, she lets Stiles know that he and Lydia are welcome to stay for as long as they want. She watches Stiles with a motherly look as he eats his soup, reassuring him when she says they won't ask for money. After a few minutes, her husband calls for her and she has to leave Stiles. She lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder and promises to give them some clothes former clients may have forgotten.

As he glances in her direction, a movement on his right makes him turn around towards the corridor leading to their room. He sees Lydia, her face bathed in tears and someone by her side, helping her walk and guiding her to him. When her eyes catch his stare, her entire face smiles and she lets out his name in a relief sigh that reduces his entire body to cotton. Leaning on the table to get up, he feels his heart beating violently against his ribcage, almost hurting him with its strength. They struggle to get to each other, walking on shaking legs, only focused on each other's eyes and needing the support of tables and chairs to not falter. Tears and laughs are mixing on both their faces and Stiles swears she has never been so beautiful and happy.

Lydia hasn't eaten yet. At barely an arm's length away, Stiles can feel how weakened she is. Without looking anywhere other than in her eyes, he takes the last step closer to catch her hand.

"Stiles," she sighs as their fingers connect.

He gently pulls her to him, and she collapses against his torso, encircling his waist and tightening her embrace as much as she can while she breathes deeply to get rid of her last tears.

"I was all alone when I woke up. I… I thought you were gone…"

"I'm sorry, so sorry, Lyds… I'm here… I didn't think…" Stiles has no idea what words are coming out of his mouth, but he can't stop talking, visualizing his words knitting a warm cover all around her while cradling her against him, his arms around her face and his hands in her hair.

As time passes, he can feel her nuzzling closer to him, as if she is seeking more warmth in his arms, trying to hide her face as much as she can in the cocoon he is providing her. He feels her wet lips on his neck and on the skin above the collar of his shirt, and his head is beginning to spin again. It's probably the hunger, or tiredness. Or maybe it's just Lydia. Whatever it is, he buries his nose in her hair and the outside world disappears. Nothing else exists but them, the words they are whispering, and the softness of their lips against their trembling bodies.

When he feels her collapse a little too heavily against him, he tries to straighten up to help her stand. "Come on, you have to eat."

She silently nods and sniffs, letting Stiles lead her without untangling herself from him.

* * *

Outside, the moon is full and there is no sign of thunder. Stiles wonders if that's part of the way they hunt: lull them into believing they are safe, be unpredictable enough to never leave their minds. He sighs. It's working all too well.

After eating together, they spent the end of the day resting and recovering without mentioning the future. When night came, Lydia had spent hours tossing and turning before falling asleep and now, Stiles is the one with a restless mind…and it's barely 1 AM. It's the third night already since they left Beacon Hills, and Stiles is just as clueless about what to do as he was on the first night.

After catching sight of a clearing through the window, he gets up to go for a short walk, thinking almost too late about leaving a note for Lydia in case she wakes up.

There are so many things they need to figure out that he doesn't even know where they should start. Millie had pointed out their exact localization on a map. They are too far away from the lake house to walk there. Even if they can retrieve the Jeep, Stiles isn't even sure he will be able to fix it, which means they would have to abandon it again. That thought wrenches his heart.

Someone could drive them to the nearest city, but it wouldn't solve the biggest issue: Lydia.

Stiles still remembers how detached she had looked when she had handed him the food she had stolen.

Because of him.

He is destroying her, and he despises himself for it. He knows what he has to do. He has to convince her to drive back to Beacon Hills, let the Ghost Riders take him, and hope she can remember him. But before that happens, he has to tell her…

The sound of his loud sigh makes him come back to reality. That's when he hears her calling his name.

"Stiles!" He turns around and sees Lydia running towards him and waving her arms in the air, a scared look imprinted on her face. "Stiles, behind you!"

He barely has the time to look in the other direction when he feels something heavy crashing into his body and throwing him on the ground. Lydia's scream pierces through his ears and makes the thing above him jump in a start and lean on his left shoulder. Before it eventually releases his body, Stiles hears his bone crack and can't muffle his own scream.

"Stiles, are you alright?"

He hears Lydia's hurried footsteps reverberating in the ground. Spitting out some blades of grass, he rolls his entire body over to face her. She must have just had enough time to grab the large woolen stole Millie had given her because it's the first thing he feels against his skin when she rushes to kneel beside him. It all happened so fast that Stiles didn't have time to register anything, but now, the pain starts to spread everywhere. He chooses to focus on something that doesn't hurt, so he looks at Lydia. He concentrates on her gentle hands against his body as she looks for wounds. He looks at her hair and the stole she is wearing tickling against his skin. It's the exact same shade as her eyes in the moonlight, and she's so beautiful he thinks it could make him forget about the pain.

"Stiles?" she repeats with worry in her voice, and he realizes he hasn't answered her yet.

"That… That color really looks good on you…" he says, reaching for the fabric brushing his face.

Lydia can't muffle her laugh, making Stiles smile, but he winces as he tries to move, and the smile leaves her face.

"Stiles, I was so scared! I heard you leave and…I saw you through the window and the…" She has to stop herself to hide the tears starting to well up in her eyes, so Stiles takes her hands in his and gestures her to come closer. Not waiting for him to ask, she lays beside him on the grass, letting a few tears roll freely and quietly down her cheeks until she can breathe normally. Stiles can't move much, but he manages to turn on his right side so they can look at each other.

He feels her fingers on his face. "Are you alright?" she sniffs, and he nods. "His eyes were blue, so he wasn't an Alpha… He couldn't have turned you, right? He didn't bite you?"

Shaking his head, he takes her fingers in his hand. "No, he just… pushed me down."

The absurdity of that sentence freezes them both for a few seconds before they start laughing, a bubbling laughter that spreads until it reaches their hands. Hands that can't seem to leave each other's skin.

"I got so scared," Lydia repeats while wiping both her cheeks and Stiles's. "What were you doing out here?"

"I'm sorry, I wanted—" He tries to sit up, but has to muffle a cry of pain as he leans on his left arm and collapses again on his back.

Lydia leans over him. "What's wrong?" She pulls up the sleeve of his tee shirt up to reveal a huge bruise. "Stiles, you're hurt…"

Her voice is a soft whisper that reaches his ears at the same time her cold fingers are grazing his skin, caressing as tenderly as if he was made out of more than flesh and bones. He could let himself drown in that sensation, but Lydia is trying to hold back her tears from the tip of her quivering lips and Stiles can't stand to see her like that.

He brings his fingers to her face, caressing her cheek with the same tenderness she used, and lets his thumb linger on her lower lip until she releases it from her teeth. "Lyds, I swear, I'm fine…"

She lies back beside him and takes his hand in hers and absently plays with his fingers. "I… I should have reacted sooner. I could feel something was wrong before I fell asleep, and I didn't do anything…"

Her voice is now barely a whisper, and her eyes are fixed on some invisible point between the blades of grass. She looks so small and frail that Stiles doesn't feel anything other than the urge to protect her and an anger towards anything and anyone who would make her feel like that. The feeling is strong enough to help him forget about his pain, giving him the strength to get closer to her and lift her chin. The world doesn't deserve her. Her or her eyes that would put any star to shame, or her mind that doesn't know the limits of imagination, or her heart. A heart big enough to contain the entire Earth.

"You saved me, Lydia. I was so lost in my own thoughts that he would have killed me if it wasn't for you."

His left hand joined his right one around her face.

"But you're hurt," she resumes. Stiles can still feel her jaw clenching as it's trying to contain more sobs. What had he done to deserve the tears of the most perfect human being?

"But I'll live…"

Lydia nods and bites her lips, laying her hands over his and seeming to find some stability in this contact.

"What were you thinking about?"

The question overwhelms Stiles with tiredness and sadness, and he closes his eyes. He doesn't know how to answer her, how to find the right words to explain what has been denying him rest for three days.

"Stiles, please talk to me." Her pleading voice compels him to open his eyes.

"I shouldn't have…" Catching her hands and laying them over his chest, he locks his eyes into her stare. Something in the way she frowns tells him she already knows what he wants to say…and that she won't accept it. "I shouldn't have dragged you with me in this… I have no idea… What are we gonna do? We're not gonna run until the end of the world—"

"Stiles," she cuts him off, "first of all, you didn't drag me with you. I'm here because I _want_ to be here with you." She leans closer to him with something looking like endless hope in her eyes. "And why not run until the end of the world?" Her shy smile makes him almost forget about why it would be wrong.

"Lydia…"

"I know, I know…" she sighs, "I just… I don't like your conclusions."

Stiles can't stop a bubble of warmth from forming in his stomach before spreading everywhere in his body and bursting out in a smile. It's so quick and intense that he feels his cheeks flushing and a small laugh escaping his breath.

"I haven't told you anything yet…"

She grins too, tightening her grip on his hands, but rolling her eyes for good measure. "Come on, you don't have to. You've been ready to let the Ghost Riders take you ever since that first night."

As she says those last words, she bends her head and her voice breaks a little. In those few seconds, something shifts inside of Stiles. Something that spreads hope inside of him, strengthening his resolves as much as it breaks his heart. The proof is there, in her eyes that can't seem to stay away from his own for too long: she probably loves him as much as he loves her.

It's not the first time such a thought crosses his uncredulous mind, but this time is different because it's not ingrained in his head. It almost seems like it's growing from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, taking its roots in his heart that beats faster and stronger to hasten its growth so it can reach his stomach, joining the butterflies that are flapping their colorful wings at each of her smiles.

Lydia loves him. Maybe he has always known that. Maybe his body has always known, welcoming her silent love and hiding it somewhere safe and warm to help it mature on its own time. Her love grew inside of him. It's there – in him. She gave him that part of her, over and over again, willingly surrendering to him a little of her heart, a little of her soul because she knew he would take care of it.

Lydia loves him, and if he can confess his love to her, Stiles thinks there's a possibility she will remember him because of it. Because she'll notice there's a part of herself that is gone with him. It's mind blowing. Stiles doesn't know if he's allowed to have such thoughts, if he's allowed to think so highly about himself. He has already done that, thought too much of himself with the Nogitsune and if he hadn't been so afraid to die, then maybe…

But Lydia is looking at him as if she knows exactly what he is thinking and she looks like she's torn between hurt and anger, so he stops thinking about death and oblivion.

Instead, he focuses on Lydia and in those tiny parts of her living inside of him, taking roots and growing the most beautiful flowers he has ever seen. He doesn't know their colors yet, but they are already starting to blossom and it's mesmerizing. He knows that because his stomach and his entire body are vibrating with the rustling of spring. There are a dozen birds somewhere in purple trees waiting for those small flowers to blossom under the blue sky and the soft sun. They sing and they jump from one branch to another, bringing life back into the tree, into him.

Before his mind can form a coherent thought, Lydia resumes. "We're gonna figure it out, Stiles. I… I agree that running away until the end of time isn't the solution, but I can protect you. I know it. I feel it… You can't just give up like that…"

She's giving him a pleading stare, and Stiles can't help his lips from drawing a genuine smile because her words sound like the lyrics of a song he used to sing for her. And he knows what other words they hide.

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself like that," she continues. "It's too dangerous and unpredictable. They won't catch you if I'm near you. As long I don't see them, it's protecting you for now… Millie offered me to give us some money." Stiles doesn't see the sudden flush on Lydia's cheeks, but he can guess it from the way she nibbles at her lips and averts her eyes. "She thinks we ran away to escape our parents who won't let us get married…" She stops a few seconds and as she slowly lifts her eyes to look at him again, Stiles feels his entire face warm up and neither of them has the strength or will to hold back the laugh escaping their breaths.

"I didn't know what to answer," she continues, sounding defensive, "and obviously I couldn't tell the truth, so I didn't say anything…"

Stiles nods, trying to not smile too much at her tone. He swallows his words because Lydia is fidgeting with her fingers around his, and he wants to see more of that version of Lydia.

"Anyway. With that money, we could go to the lake house like we planned. Then we could rest before we figure out the rest. The lake out is made out of mountain ash. It could protect us against them. I swear…we can find a solution. We just have to stay together…"

Her eyes are begging him to understand and he does. He hears her loud and clear. He wants that – he wants to make her vision come true, he wants to give her everything she wants, but he knows it's not the right thing to do, so he heaves a silent sigh.

He is about to reply something when she opens her mouth again and her last words almost burst his reluctance into a shower of confetti, "Remember how you saved my life? Over and over again? Let me save yours this time… I can't help you if you let them…" her voice breaks and without lifting her eyes she adds, "Teamwork, remember?"

Those words barely make a sound when she says them, but they are filled with something so bright that they still find some place where they can echo in Stiles, warming him up and igniting a fire that spreads shivers all over his body.

"It wouldn't be the first time you saved my life, you know," he eventually manages to utter in a whisper that he tries to fill with as much light as he can.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, smiling. There's nothing else to say, they both know that. Maybe in a way, Lydia has understood what his silence means, but has decided that she wouldn't let him have it this way. Stiles doesn't know how to feel about that because he doesn't want to let the darkness take him. Not again. He wants to stay with her. He needs more time…

"Come on," says Lydia after a few seconds as she tentatively kisses his cheek without meeting his eyes. "Let's take care of your shoulder." She stands up and reaches out to him to help him stand.

He leans on her, wincing as he lets her lead him to their room. As they walk in silence, Stiles feels something tugging in his stomach. Something warning him that a storm is about to come.

With a tightened chest and a sore heart, he understands that it has to be tonight.

Because there's no such thing as having more time.

Because it's now, or never.

Because it's her. Because it's Lydia, and he was born to love her – to give her all the love she needs, in whatever form it should take…

Even if it means embracing the darkness once more.


	3. Pink

On their way back to the inn, there are a thousand questions running through Lydia's head. She's afraid she didn't convince Stiles, afraid of not being enough to make him stay, afraid that his wounds are more serious than they look and afraid there's nothing she can do about it.

Hunger and dizziness have left her, but an insidious fear has made its way through her veins, and it's gnawing at each of her weaknesses. She frantically wipes her wet eyes as she pauses to open their bedroom door.

_No more crying. This needs to stop._

Stiles closes the door behind them, and the soft _click _echoes in the room, startling Lydia who turns around to face him. They are motionless and quiet, standing in front of each other in the pale night light filtering through the trees outside and the curtains. Lydia wishes she could know what Stiles is thinking about because her own mind seems to be stuck between needing to take care of his possible wounds and what that implies. She can't move, she doesn't dare.

"I uh…" she eventually starts, clearing her throat. But no other word follows, so she just points at his shirt with a trembling finger that she quickly used to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She tries to rationalize. She has to inspect his injuries to determine if any of them are serious, choose a procedure, and take care of them. But her heart races, bringing a rush of blood to her brain, and she can't think properly because the first step implies seeing his bare chest and moreover, it implies that she helps him peel his shirt off because she doesn't want him to hurt his shoulder more than it already is.

But _that_ is a new situation in itself. _That_ has never happened before.

Never.

Even during their few beach afternoons, whenever he would take his shirt off, she would always look away, and she would always try to not stare too long at him.

Because staring is not polite, it implies things and Lydia was raised to be polite. It had nothing to do with her cheeks getting suddenly too hot, or her heart beating like she is about to jump from a cliff.

Nothing.

But everything is different here and now anyway.

It's different because it's night, because they are alone, too young, too desperate, and because Lydia can't shake off the sinking feeling in her stomach that she's seeing Stiles for the last time. It's different because his arms are comfortable and now, she knows it. It's different because her brain has lost control over her body. But most of all… It's different because she is sure Stiles has understood everything. She is sure he has deciphered every single word of a language she thought she was the only one to use.

He _knows_.

And it renders her speechless, it intimidates her as much as it makes her chest swell with joy and hope. Stiles intimidates her, and she can't help but be reminded of that day in the boy's locker room when she had kissed him, and immediately felt like a shy teenage girl in front of him… But thinking about the bubble gum color of his lips is probably not a good idea right now, so she tries to focus on what she has to do as she steps forward.

"Your uh…" She directs a shaking hand at his shirt again, staring at his chest and nibbling at her lips, hoping it will be enough to make her look composed.

"Oh…" He seems to finally understand, and they both nervously stifle a giggle.

As she is about to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, Lydia stops herself, realizing that she has already done that several times. Instead, she tilts her head, trying to look anywhere else but in front of her, where Stiles is struggling with his shirt. She hears him muttering underneath his breath and when she understands the words "Can you" and "help", she answers "yes" with such enthusiasm that it freezes both of them.

But they don't speak of it.

Lydia breathes in and out as she moves closer to Stiles, fighting against a nervous chuckle in the hopes of appearing as collected as possible. When her hands reach for the soft fabric, she swallows slowly and can hear that Stiles has stopped breathing.

Their bodies are close, too close. It's nothing like the proximity they've shared over the past few days. Lydia can't tell exactly why, and she can't think straight anyway, but it has nothing to do with that. Nothing.

Tonight, everything is… _more_.

The dark outside is deeper, and the moon shines more brightly. The electricity surrounding them seems to carve out Stiles's body from the air itself. The slightest brush of his skin against hers is heavier, it lingers more. His stare fills the atmosphere with more words, and his hands seem to paint more vibrant colors around her. She can _feel_ him, his scent, his warmth…and she steps closer because it's all too much and if she doesn't, nothing will make sense anymore.

Her fingers skim the skin under the hem of his shirt, and she feels his muscles twitch. She is so close to him that she swears she can hear his heart beating. All she has to do to lean against his torso would be to slightly tilt her head. She wants to.

His fingers against hers bring her back to reality. Their warm softness surprises her, and she stares at them for a moment. Neither of them moves or breathes. At that moment, Time itself could have mistaken them for statues and decided to let them be for all eternity.

Lydia is mesmerized by the beauty of Stiles's hands. It's a unique beauty, something elegant and oddly perfect. She realizes she has never been touched by such hands. Hands that wouldn't try to possess her, but… But Lydia doesn't know the alternative to that, and she wants to. So much. She wants to feel his hands on her. She's tired of being who she is, and for the first time in her life, she tells herself that it wouldn't be so bad to let those hands – _Stiles's_ hands – guide her, help her find the shape she was always supposed to have.

The thought sends shivers all over her body, and she realizes that Stiles is breathing as loudly as she is because his tentative breaths are tickling her temple.

"Can you lift your…" she whispers before clearing her throat and pointing her chin towards his right arm.

Stiles does as he is told without averting his eyes from her face, but Lydia doesn't dare to stare back at him. She is too afraid to catch something he wouldn't want her to, something too intimate for this night. She knows she wouldn't be able to resist it, so she shouldn't look. The reason why gets lost in her brain, but she tries to tell herself there has to be one.

After a few attempts, they eventually manage to get his shirt off and Lydia turns on one of their bedside lamps. She mutters something about needing more light, knowing very well that she also needs a few seconds to slow her breathing down. Without a sound, a soft yellow light engulfs them in its warmth.

Slowly, Lydia turns to face Stiles again. Even half shaded, Stiles is beautiful. He is standing in front of her, and she can't look anywhere else. She can't stop her lips from drawing a smile on her face, and she knows he sees it. She realizes he must know that she doesn't have any reason to smile in this moment. She must look like an idiot, she tells herself. But the shadows are warmer in this light. They bring out the rosy shade of his cheeks, as though he has just run sprints. They bring out his eyes too… She shouldn't have looked.

There has to be some part of him that doesn't awaken that thing inside of her. That thing she wants to call _love_, but that she doesn't entirely understand. That thing that is preventing her from taking care of him like she should. So, she averts her eyes from his beautiful face.

Lower on his shoulder, there is a bruise and a few scratches, and she already knows that behind it, there is Donovan's bite mark.

Thinking about it makes her blood run cold and brings her feet closer to his. She wants to take him in her arms. She wants him to take her in his arms, and for once she doesn't want to be the first one to let go. She loves him, and she wants him to know. She loves him so much that those words have come alive inside of her, she feels them on the tip of her tongue and in her entire body. They want to come out, but Lydia doesn't know how, and she feels like an idiot.

Stiles is beautiful in front of her. His hands are beautiful. His soul is beautiful. She wants to know it better because she doesn't know enough. Suddenly, nothing seems more important than knowing what smell coming from the kitchen in the morning makes him smile the most, or if he cries sometimes when he reads something beautiful. She wants to know what colors catch his eyes first in the sky and what shapes he sees in the clouds. Lydia doesn't know those things and many others. Maybe she will never know.

The very notion overwhelms her with panic, and something heavy settles in her stomach, forcing it to cower. It feels like her chest is collapsing over her heart, it feels like she can't breathe anymore. Tears are welling up in her eyes. She wants to hide them, but out of nowhere, she realizes that she will never know Stiles's soul if she doesn't show hers to him. So instead, she looks at him. She stares directly in his beautiful eyes and tries to not close hers. It feels like looking directly at the sun with her eyes wide open, but it doesn't hurt.

"Can you…" she doesn't know if those words escape her lips, or if she is just sobbing, but her arms are half outstretched in front of her and Stiles understands anyway.

He steps closer, whispering her name. She has never loved her name more than when he says it.

When she feels his arms around her, she closes her eyes and just like that, she isn't ashamed of crying in front of him anymore. _How does he do that?_ His head is resting above hers and they breathe together. His skin is warm against her. It's a warmth radiating from his entire body, it reaches straight at her heart every time. To keep from aggravating his injury, he has just laid his left hand against her hip while the other one is cupping the back of her neck. His fingers are slowly massaging her skull and the nape of her neck. She knows some noises are escaping her parted lips, but she lets them. She lets them because with each noise, Stiles's left hand is bringing her hip closer to him. She lets them because she has always forbid herself to express her pleasure with boys, but Stiles is the first one who deserves to know. So she presses her body closer to him, careful not to hurt him when she buries his face deeper between her arms and her neck. Rising to the tips of her toes, she tries to make herself as tall as possible to feel every inch of his torso against her.

As she moves, she feels the shawl slowly slip along her back. For a second, she's afraid that the muffled sound it will make when it touches the ground will break them from their peacefulness. Stiles must have the same thought, because his left hand glides from her hip to her lower back, making sure to keep her against him.

But the movement hurts him, and he winces. It's a reflex for Lydia to push away and she immediately regrets it, but it takes over – as if her former self is still hanging around to make sure she isn't showing too much of herself.

Next time.

Next time she won't be the first one to let go.

For now, she has to step away from his embrace and she does it really slowly, doing her best to show how reluctant she is. A few strands of her hair are glued to his nose and ears, so she removes them one at a time, smiling. Stiles smiles too. It's a small smile that Lydia can't entirely decipher, but it's a real one, a genuine one. The kind of smile that seems to say _I know,_ and that's enough…for now.

They are still so close that she wouldn't have to lean much closer to kiss that smile. She rises to the tips of her toes again, her hand on his forearm, but her lips land on his cheek. They linger there for a few more seconds before gliding a little lower. Stiles trembles, and she feels him leaning against her lips. So, she opens her mouth slightly to kiss more of his skin because he _has to understand._ For some reason she can't figure, making him fully aware of his worth to her eyes becomes more vital by the second.

It's important because maybe it's the last time. Lydia can sense it in the air. She can sense it in him, and it scares her.

Then, as she is about to say something about needing to check his torso and back, Stiles leans in slowly and his lips find her cheekbone. Her eyes close, and she can't focus on anything else but his lips moving around her skin, mirroring her actions. They stay there for one second.

Two.

Three.

Four…

Lydia wishes Stiles's lips would stay exactly where they are, because she has never been kissed like this, and she needs more time to find words to describe it. She still doesn't know the alternative to possessive, but she knows Stiles has the answer on the tip of his lips and fingers. But he pushes away too soon, and he smiles a shy but radiant smile. Beautiful, just like him.

They still don't utter a single word, but there is so much electricity in the air that she wonders if their bodies aren't communicating with waves and warmth, producing their own thermal signatures; a kind of Morse code from another universe. The idea makes Lydia smile, and gives her the strength to start assessing Stiles's injuries.

Her fingers brush his skin, leaving shivers in their wake. Everywhere. He doesn't say anything, but he's quivering under her touch, and Lydia is mesmerized. She thinks she won't be able to stop until she's covered his entire body, it almost looks like their skins are exchanging electricity. Like she's revealing a map, or a secret message that has been there all along…waiting for her to read it. This has never happened before. She has never affected anyone like this. It gives her a sense of satisfaction, because she is genuinely happy to know she can make him feel good with barely a brush of her fingers. She wonders if Stiles feels the same way. Maybe he has never been touched by hands like hers before. Maybe she is bringing him something he has always needed too.

She eventually covers his torso and back, not finding anything serious, only some scratches that need to be disinfected (just in case) and his bruised shoulder. After clearing her throat, which feels as dry as it did when they were in the forest, Lydia tells Stiles he doesn't have any serious injuries. Her voice is held to a whisper, her hands not leaving his forearm. She wonders if she'll ever be able to not reach out to him from now on.

Melissa once showed her how to put back a dislocated shoulder, but she doesn't think that's what he has. Just in case, she plans to apply something soothing to the bruise and put a bandage around the shoulder to keep it in place until they can show it to Millie in the morning.

After such a long time barely talking, she has to clear her throat, and she can feel her scream from earlier beginning to sting her throat.

Stiles nods but doesn't say anything. His eyes, his gorgeous eyes are louder than ever nonetheless.

Millie had given them the room in front of the First Aid clinic, so when Lydia goes out to see if she can find everything she needs there, she leaves the two doors open.

Stiles watches her, but the sudden silence and loneliness crush him all at once, as if they had been lurking somewhere, waiting for the perfect moment to come out. He is aching for her to come back. To avoid rushing to her, or thinking too much, he sits on the edge of the bed and waits. His shoulder is already hurting less. As he tries to move it and realizes it just feels a little sore, he heaves a sigh of relief. It's probably not dislocated. That would have complicated everything… As much as he would like to stay here longer, it's too dangerous. If the Ghost Riders come here, they won't be able to keep everyone safe.

His train of thought is broken when he hears Lydia's footsteps coming closer. He lifts his head from his hands, and though he knows he shouldn't stare at her, he can't help it. She has pulled her hair back into a pony tail. A few strands are framing her face, caressing her cheeks as she walks. He knows it's stupid to be jealous of two strands of hair, but he is. He wishes they were his thumbs. She is draped in the stole that she must have retrieved at some point. It's around her shoulders in the exact same position his arms are aching to be. Lydia is beautiful – glowing – and she is approaching him with her hands full of bottles, tubes, band-aids, and towels. Stiles wants to make a comment about the quantity of supplies she has gathered, in comparison to how light his injuries are. He wants to make her laugh just to hear those notes in her voice that he likes so much. But his joke gets lodged in his throat when she kneels between his legs, putting down everything she found with shaking hands.

Stiles sucks in a breath that comes out as a laugh through his nose. It draws Lydia's attention to him and she lifts her eyes to meet his.

"I uh…" she purses her lips.

Stiles feels his own mouth curl up into a crooked smile, which eventually makes Lydia burst out into a laugh that is as light as air itself and so beautiful that Stiles wishes laughter could have a color. Maybe that one would match her lips; a vivid pink. She must have nibbled at them.

"Shut up, Stilinski…" she eventually adds with the faintest pat on his leg as she bends down to grab a bottle of disinfectant.

It's not the first time Lydia gets what he means without him having to say a single word, and every time, he wonders at the way his love for her to continues to grow. Sometimes, it scares him to think that he has reached the limits of his love, that he can't feel it deeper in his bones, but then his love always surprises him. Multidimensional universes must be real, because Stiles is sure his love has already reached everything it could in this dimension and it's still growing.

He knows he can't explain it because he knows not a lot of people would understand him, but sometimes, he can sense his love for her in the air. It's right there in front of him, all around him and it's caressing her cheeks, ruffling her hair and cradling her body. And sometimes, it's enough to make him happy.

It's as if the silent knowledge of the connection between their two hearts had opened a gate to another world. A world where her reflection would come to life in each cloud, in each blade of grass, in every ray of sunshine caressing a river or warming up a rock. A world where her laugh would reverberate in everything, in the wind, in the birds' songs at dawn, and in every one of his heartbeats. A world she would fill with her colors.

On this night, at that moment, he knows she can sense it too.

She is all he can see, and he is ready – ready to leave now that he knows he will find his way back to her. He had been scared that first night, afraid of the emptiness awaiting him and of a void he pictured as black as the one the Nogitsune had used to keep him prisoner. Now, he knows it won't be. Nothing will ever be this black now that he can cast all the colors of Lydia's face, hair and heart on everything that crosses his stare.

A peaceful quietness spreads inside of him and he lets her heal his wounds, watching her precise and careful gesture with wonder and gratitude. She's applying something too cold on a small wound next to his bruise with pursed lips and a concentrated look when he winces.

"Sorry, sorry," she whispers, blowing softly on the wound before kissing it from the tip of her lips. "I'm almost done, I promise."

All his words are trapped in his throat, and he feels like an idiot. She resumes with even slower gestures, frowning and silently scolding herself when she feels him flinch.

After that, she takes care of his bruise, massaging his shoulder with a cream she heated up between her hands. It feels so nice that Stiles leans a little closer, unable to hold back his moans. He can see his breath bothering some strands of her hair, forcing them to slide away from her temple, and he can see it caressing her skin because there are goosebumps on her forearms. She leans a hand on his thigh to straighten up and check his back once more. He can feel her muscles trembling. He has to clench his fist against his leg to remain focused and withhold a moan when he feels her hair tickling his bare skin. But he can't conceal the way he is shivering and Lydia must notice them, because as she kneels in front of him, she takes off her stole to drape it around him. It's warm and it smells like her.

"You should be alright, he really didn't do anything to you. He must have grabbed your shoulder when I screamed. It was as if—" She brushes her fingers against his shoulder with a faraway look in her eyes. "As if he wanted to drag you into the woods…"

She whispers those last words and they hang above them like a threat. They both swallow thickly until Stiles grabs her fingers to encourage her to look at him.

"But it didn't happen, Lyds. You were there," he brings her fingers to his lips and smiles at her reaction when she hears her nickname.

She glances down with adorable rose-toned cheeks and smiles in that way he loves so much. It lasts probably one or two seconds, not more. After that, Lydia clears her throat and lifts her head as if nothing happened. But Stiles discerns some leftovers of that smile in her eyes, and he lets that spark blind him.

"Your… Your ear is still bleeding," she whispers as she slowly retracts her fingers from his grasp to reach for the bottle of peroxide and cotton gauze pad.

Stiles doesn't know if she can't speak louder because of her sore throat from earlier, or if she doesn't want to because she can feel that something frail is sheltering them from the rest of the world. Her hands are trembling when she tries to open the bottle and Stiles might not have noticed it if he hadn't been aware of her every move. She swears underneath her breath when the cap won't budge. Like in a half-awoken dream, Stiles sees his hands covering hers and she lifts her incredulous stare to his.

No, not incredulous… Lydia has in her eyes something electric and reverential. Stiles is incredulous because her touch as never felt like that, like it's giving her own rhythm to his heart so they can both dance to the same music. He feels her fingers trying to make their way through his, hesitant and warm. He knows he should close his mouth. He can feel the air leaving his parted lips too quickly. He is panting, and she is too close. It's not polite. But he can't help it, if he breathes through his nose, he knows he is going to pass out. Besides, Lydia is staring at his lips and it's too much. He knows it because he's doing the exact same thing.

He tilts his head as Lydia straightens up, and he wonders when his head learned to do something so bold. Her nose is caressing his, he can feel the stroke of her breath against his skin, and he closes his eyes as her lips brush against his.

But the bottle slips from their fingers and they both pull away to catch it. Their foreheads bump against each other, and they start chuckling and apologizing without daring to meet each other's eyes.

"I can…" Stiles says after clearing his throat. He points at the bottle, too nervous to keep talking.

She hands him the disinfectant and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she starts wiping the blood dripping thickly from his ear to his neck. She is nervous, Stiles can tell by the way she nibbles at her lips and the irregular pressure her hand applies to his skin, as if she was fighting against the agitation of her own body. He tries to open the bottle, but the sudden silence makes him aware of the pain in his shoulder and he winces.

Lydia sees it and takes the bottle back. "You… You should stop moving," she nibbles at her lips again and stutters a little before resuming. "L... Let me do it and I'll… I'll bandage your shoulder to keep it in place for the night."

With a nod, Stiles closes his eyes and lets his mind drown in the softness of Lydia's touch. She is so gentle and careful that Stiles is sure it's the only reason why the pain is slowly disappearing. When he opens his eyes, she is still kneeling between his legs, trying to erase a smile on her lips, the same that doesn't leave Stiles's lips. She is focused on his bandage now, using Millie's shawl that she drapes around his neck to keep his arm against his torso. It doesn't hurt anymore, and Stiles is sure it's not necessary because he can move better than earlier, but he doesn't say anything. He knows he is weak, but he allows himself that moment, just one more…before it's all over. He wishes he wouldn't have to part from her. He wishes he could cup her cheek, make her lift those beautiful eyes to him, and kiss her slowly. Kiss her like she has never been kissed before and turn her lips every shade of pink and red possible. But he doesn't know how to do that. He wishes he could tell her everything right now…after all, why not?

But it would feel too much like the end, and it scares him.

Before he can make a decision, Lydia pulls away. "There, it should be okay," she says softly.

"Thanks," he whispers as she is standing up, and he already misses her presence so close to him. He helps her gather everything to put it back in the adjacent room.

The light is brighter there, and Stiles has to blink a few times before his eyes stop hurting. Lydia opens the closet and puts all the bottles and band-aids away. Her cheeks are as pink as when he picks her up after her kick boxing practice.

She usually exhausts herself there at least twice a week. One day, as she was driving home, she was so tired that she almost got into an accident. Stiles insisted on picking her up ever since. She always looked so pretty, her flushed cheeks making her entire face glow more than usual. Seeing her like that often made him bolder, especially since he overheard her ask one of her friends from class if she looked okay at the end of practice.

He usually waited in the car, but that day, the lesson had lasted a little longer, so he had gone in. Lydia hadn't seen him, and he knew he should have gone back in the car… But he had already heard her question and the answer… "_Come on, Lydia, you look perfect! You've redone your hair a thousand times already_."

_A thousand times_.

He had stayed frozen, and Lydia had eventually spotted him. She had blushed; pink cheeks, nibbled lips, and wide eyes. He had caught her stare, and she pretended to look for something in her bag while walking over to him.

"_Are you sure you really work out here?_" he had asked, a crooked smile on his lips while he had taken her bag. The question had finally directed her attention to him.

"_What? Why?_"

"_You don't look exhausted like the others, just… beautiful._" He had begged for his voice to not catch, but it had.

She had rolled her eyes, but he could tell by her smile and her blush that his compliment had made her happy. "_That's cheesy, even for you…_"

Then, she looked at him with the smile she always used with him. A smile that had reached her eyes, making them vibrate with genuine joy. That's when it had happened. That's when Stiles had felt like a different person for the first time. _She_ had made him feel like he was more than just a teenage boy and it had made him even braver.

"_You're not fooling me you know, not with that smile…_"

They had reached the car, and Lydia was climbing up into the Jeep, allowing him to realize what he had just said.

But when he had gotten behind the wheel, Lydia was looking at him with something playful in her eyes. "_What smile?_"

"_You know, your secret smile._"

"_I don't_ _have a secret smile," _she denied.

"_Yes, you_ _do_…_and you're doing it right now._"

Stiles knew at that moment that Lydia was fighting hard against herself to keep her eyes on him when all she wanted to do was look anywhere else to let her smile burst on her lips in complete privacy. But she didn't want to let him see how he affected her, so she had kept her eyes on him. Her cheeks were an even deeper shade of pink, if it was possible.

"_And what's that smile?_"

He snorted, "_I'm not telling you, or I won't see it again._"

"_Fine…_" She had crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the landscape unfolding from her window, smirking because she must have known he would eventually tell her.

"_You have that smile when I make a joke and nobody laughs,_" he had started after a few minutes spent listening to his heart beating wildly in his ears. "_You have it too when I find the right words to make you feel better. That's how I know I found them. You… You also have it when you think I'm not looking at you_."

His words had stretched between them, building a bridge.

"_It's not so secret if you see it, then_."

"_It's not a secret from me. It's secret from everyone else. It's…_" He had stopped, not knowing whether he should continue or not, but Lydia's cheeks were still petal pink and she was still looking at him with something expectant in her gaze. With his eyes on the road, he had ended his sentence. "_It's your smile for me, just me._"

"_How can you tell?_" she questioned.

There had been something beautiful in her voice, something that sounded like amazement. It had made him swallow thickly. When he had answered, it was in a low voice.

"_Because I see you Lydia…_ _I mean, not in a creepy way, I_… _I_ see _you. You know?_"

He had glanced at her and she had that same smile on her lips.

"_I know_." She had brought her hand over his on the gear stick and had grazed her thumb over his skin. "_I know I pretend not to, but_… _I see you too_."

It happened a few months ago, but Stiles still remembers it like it was yesterday. In that moment, he knew he had caught another glimpse of Lydia's soul. It wasn't even a stolen glimpse. It was a glimpse she had allowed him to have. With rosy cheeks and labored breathing, she had handed over to him a part of her soul without waiting for anything in return. But he gives her everything he can anyway, even if it means doing scary things, like telling her about a smile he has always spotted on her lips or staying in her bed until morning.

Stiles is still smiling from the memory when Lydia turns around to take what he has managed to bring with his only available hand. He snorts when he sees her raising an eyebrow at him.

"What?" There's a smile in her voice that carves its color on her cheeks, and Stiles can't resist it.

"You look beautiful."

The smile on her lips grows bigger, her cheeks reddening a little more. She takes the last band-aids from his hands. Before turning around to put them away, she slowly kisses his jaw and Stiles freezes.

"Maybe I should check your head for a concussion after all," she whispers, her eyes locked in his gaze.

He wants to say something, he really does, but nothing comes out, and they are closing the door to go back to their room before he realizes it. "I'll get you something hot from the kitchen for your throat. You can go lie down."

They smile at each other. Stiles has no idea how many times they can smile at each other until it stops making his stomach swirl. He hopes such number doesn't exist. He hopes Time will always look away in those moments to let their smiles stretch over hours.

In the kitchen, he finds herbal tea, honey, and lemon. As the water is boiling, loneliness crushes around him again. How is it possible to miss someone he just left and is about to see again? Will it be like this all the time when the Ghost Riders take him? A shiver runs down his spine at the idea. He shouldn't think about that. Instead, he tries to keep his mind on what he still has to do… Lydia still doesn't know, but parting from her tonight sickens him. He can't leave her, not when she is being so open with him.

Nothing feels more vital to him than getting back to her, crawling under their sheets, and nuzzling against her, so he can feel her body close to his and they can fall asleep together, as if they were one being.

Stiles gathers the tea and everything else on a tray and turns the light off with a sigh.

Tomorrow, he'll do it tomorrow.

* * *

The night is still dark when Lydia's muffled moans wake Stiles. They must have barely slept an hour. He realizes that their bodies have instinctively curled around each other. The stole that was covering his shoulder is now lying on the floor, and Lydia is pressed against him. His arm is encircling her shoulder and their legs have found a way to tangle. He feels his eyelids blinking heavily, his body and mind still numb from sleep and not quite understanding what could have woken him up.

But it's not long before he notices the weight of Lydia's hand on his left hip, clenching desperately around it as if she was afraid of being swept away by a sudden tornado. Stiles fully awakens when she starts sobbing.

"Lydia," he calls softly into her ear, tenderly brushing her hair back.

"Stiles…" His name escapes her lips as she tightens her grasp on his shirt.

He keeps calling her in the softest way he can as he rubs her hand, hoping to unclench her grasp, while using his other hand above her head to tenderly caress her hair and ear.

Eventually, she opens her eyes. "Stiles!" She bursts into a cry of relief and falls panting into his arms, laying her hands behind his back and pressing him as close to her as she can. With a shaking voice, she tells him she saw herself alone, walking everywhere with a hole in her heart, something that couldn't be filled because something was missing.

"I think I… I had forgotten all about you. My life was the same, everything was the same, except you weren't there…and nobody saw that hole, but it was there, inside of all of us. I… I was the only one, Stiles, the only one!" Her tone is desperate, and it breaks Stiles's heart. "I… I can't forget you, right? That's impossible, how could I forget you?"

She is looking directly in his eyes now. Big green wet eyes that are so close to his that he can decipher the slightest emotion in them. There is fear, but there is also love. There is so much love that Stiles can't ignore it.

_It's now, it has to be now_, he thinks. But it wrenches his heart, so he lowers his gaze. "Lydia – "

"No, no, Stiles," she cuts him off. "I won't forget you. I won't. I won't."

"You will, but it's okay…"

"How can you say that?"

He feels her pulling away from him and her gaze turns distant. Stiles can't do anything but look powerless as his memory is escaping her. She blinks and her eyes widen, as if for the first time, she has realized what had happened. Taking a deep breath, Stiles holds her hands against his chest and continues with a steadier voice because her strength goes beyond everything, he has no doubt that she will find him.

"It's okay because you'll remember me, and you'll bring me back. It's the only solution, Lydia. All you'll have to do is remember…" He wets his lips, it's impossible to stop looking right at her and it's impossible to make up his mind now. "Remember you were the first girl I ever danced with?"

"Stiles, please stop, I'm begging you…"

She knows he is saying good-bye. He can read it in her stare that pleads him to stop even louder than her voice does. More than anything, he wants to give those eyes what they want, make her vision of them safe in her lake house come true… But it's impossible and irresponsible. At least right now. This has to happen first, otherwise, they will never move on from here. She keeps calling his name, but she must feel it's useless because she is saying it quieter every time, as if she was only trying to imprint those syllables on her tongue.

"Remember how you saved my life."

In a slow movement, Lydia snuggles closer to him, tucking her head under his chin and pressing her entire body against him. "Stop it, please stop it…" her murmur vibrates against his skin, making him shiver.

Stiles puts his arms around her shoulders and buries his nose in her hair. His entire body is quivering, and his heart is racing faster than ever when he thinks about what he still has to tell her. He wants to hide those words from the moon. She has seen too much, heard too much, and what follows must stay between them. So, he lowers his head until his lips brush her ear, and he tells her all about his love for her that never left his heart during all those years. As he speaks, he can feel her faintly sob, trying to make as little noise as possible. She tangles her legs with his to draw him on top of her while she keeps saying his name.

Stiles doesn't fight her. He rises on his elbows to make sure she's comfortable and waits until she looks up at him. He watches as her gaze lift from his lips to his eyes and knows that he is doing the exact same thing. Before resuming, he takes a few seconds to memorize the sensations of her body, trembling and warm under his, of her muscles twitching under a tension he can feel spreading through him.

When her wet eyes meet his, he continues with a voice he hopes is deep enough to contain his entire heart. "Just remember… Remember I love you."

Then, very slowly, he lowers his head, hoping that if he moves slow enough, time will eventually slow down to match his speed. He lays his lips on her forehead, kisses her temple, her cheek, and the spots where her dimples appear when she smiles. Even slower, he untangles himself from her grasp to sit up before their lips can give in to what they really want. Not now, or he will never leave.

At the last second, he looks at her and he sees it. He sees in her vibrant green eyes that moment when his image is erased from her memory.

His heart breaks.

* * *

The rest happens in some sleep-like state. Stiles can almost feel his brain detaching from his heart. Maybe it's his body's way of trying to protect him from the pain of seeing Lydia like that. He tells himself that it must be what happens when she is in a fugue state. She looks empty now, as if she needs some time to adjust to this new situation, as if her brain is slowly modifying her memories.

Stiles has understood that if he wants her to forget about him, he must not look at her, touch her, or talk too much. It's hard, probably the hardest thing he has ever done, but he has to. It's the right thing to do and he keeps repeating that to himself until it sinks in, wondering if it's even possible.

As he helps her pack in silence the suitcase Millie has given them, Stiles can't help but sneak some Reese's chocolates without her noticing. He doesn't know exactly why he does that, but he can't stand the idea of letting her go without something from him. She puts some random clothes on, and he gives her his blue hoodie. During the two seconds it takes for him to hand it over, he thinks she is going to suddenly remember him, and it makes his heart swell with hope. He scolds himself immediately and retracts his hands. The spark disappears from her eyes, and his own well up with tears.

But she puts his hoodie on and suddenly, her entire face relaxes. Stiles can't help a smile from forming on his lips. It will work, he knows it, he has never been more sure of anything in his life.

Together, they go to the front desk and Lydia uses the phone to call a taxi. They exchange a few words. He tells her to find Scott and explain everything she knows about the Wild Hunt. For a fraction of second, Stiles thinks he sees something in her eyes, on her cheeks a sign that she hasn't forgotten about him. Maybe in a way, she hasn't. Maybe what she saw in her nightmare was true, she is carrying his memory inside of her without knowing it. He doesn't know whether to be happy or not. He hates himself for making her nightmare come true, but it's working, _it will work_. She scribbles _Wild Hunt_ on a piece of paper and folds it in her pocket.

And then, she is gone, and Stiles is left with the memory of her lips coloring all the words she has always tried to hide from herself in the same pink shade as her flushed cheeks. Because Stiles knows, and he has known for longer than he can admit it to himself. Lydia doesn't blush to that perfect shade of pink with him because she is embarrassed. She blushes pink because she loves him…and that's what will bring her back to him.


	4. Orange

Fearing that something would happen to her, Stiles follows Lydia until she reaches the bench where she will wait for her taxi. Deep down, he also wishes for her to remember him, to defy the laws of the universe and force him to abandon that idea so that they wouldn't have to part now, not so soon.

Unshed tears are blinding him, and something heavy settles in his stomach. He tries to remember that he is doing the right thing, the only thing he can do to save her. But when he sees her tottering on the dirt road in front of him, her big suitcase in one hand and the sleeve of his hoodie pressed against her heart, he isn't sure about anything anymore…except that his arms feel empty.

He can't hear what she is saying, but he knows she is trying to understand what's happening. He can see it in the way she frantically sits down, looks around her, and stands up a few seconds later. There must be something inside of her – maybe even his own memory – fighting to get her attention because she keeps looking back in his direction.

The first time she does it, Stiles doesn't know whether his heart is aching with sorrow or leaping with joy. Even if the forest and its shadows are hiding him, her eyes automatically find his. But her stare is empty. Something pulls at his heart, and he lets his body lean heavily against the nearest tree, breaking the frail connection to her as he looks down. It awakens the pain in his shoulder. He forces himself to keep his eyes down, but there's something tugging too hard at his entire body and soul, some kind of magnetism that is drawing him to her. It's hard to resist it, and he is already using all of his strength to keep his feet grounded, to prevent them from running to her. So, he allows his stare to drift to her to ease the pain in his heart a little, but his arms still feel empty.

She is staring at the suitcase now, probably frowning. The moon is full, and its harsh light accentuates the incongruous color of the suitcase. It's green, but it's the wrong shade of green, nothing like the color of Lydia's beautiful green eyes. For a minute, Stiles is frustrated with himself because he never took the time to find a name for that unique hue of green, and he is afraid he won't be able to remember the exact shade. He notices the stole slung over his shoulder. He doesn't recall taking it, but that's the color of her eyes. In a way, it provides some comfort for him. It helps him remember the long hours he spent as a kid trying to find the right colored pencils to draw her. It wasn't just the green one for her eyes and the orange one for her hair. He also needed the blue one, the yellow and sometimes even the red and the white. Lydia has all the rainbow's colors in her.

Quickly, tears prickle at his eyes. His arms are too heavy without her to lighten them with the shivers her fingers leave on his skin, and his feet are itching to get to her. "It's alright. It's gonna be alright," he whispers into the light breeze, half for him and half hoping the wind will carry his words to her ear and soothe her a little.

Stiles can't begin to imagine what it must feel like for her, being alone in a place she doesn't know without anything but a foreign suitcase, and he hates himself for leaving her in such distress. He is about to force himself to go back to the inn, when Lydia turns her stare to him. Again. She is looking at him, he feels it in his entire body and at that moment, a warm peace spreads through him. He doesn't know if it's coming from her, or from him, or maybe from the warmth their two hearts are creating with the energy they use, longing for each other.

He stands still and so does she. He can hear his own heart beating in his ears, and it feels like they are silently communicating because he can _sense_ her features relaxing. It should be impossible, but Stiles has learned that this word doesn't apply to them. He doesn't question the feeling. It's a welcome break for his body.

Abruptly, Lydia averts her eyes and sits down on the bench, looking at the folded paper in her hands. Stiles only sees her back, but he can feel her tensing. He understands that she can't figure out what she is reading, so he breathes slowly in and out, begging the wind to carry his breaths to her to help her lungs expand and welcome fresh air. She relaxes, and it relieves Stiles for a second before his arms remind him that they are painfully useless without her. He doesn't know how much longer he can handle the ache.

He closes his eyes, focusing on his feet which have taken a few steps forward on their own. But it's hard to force them to go backwards. He realizes that he may never be able to go back to the inn. What will happen when the taxi comes, she gets in and leaves him with nothing but an empty road in front of him? Will he stay there, hoping to see her come back to him? Will he wait here for the Ghost Riders to take him?

A panic attack starts to constrict his chest. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists, ready to fight it, when suddenly, a bubble of warmth bursts inside of him and spreads all over his body. Stiles has no idea where it's coming from, but it reminds him of what he feels when Lydia smiles at him in that way that is only meant for him to see. It encourages him to open his eyes. A few tears rolls down his cheeks. Even though he feels a little better, he can still feel that nagging pain in his heart. He needs to breathe. He brings the stole to his nose, leaning against a tree and breathing through the fabric. Lydia's scent invades his nostrils, and he has to close his eyes to not burst into tears, but it helps. Her scent spreads through him and heals all his aches, helps his lungs to expand and his heart to find a more natural rhythm. He pictures Lydia smiling at him – in his Jeep, at their table in the library, across the hallway, when they randomly meet in the street, all those times when he feels like her lips are grazed by his invisible fingers and draw the most perfect smile for him. Only for him. When he opens his eyes, he feels as peaceful as if his arms had found something in the air to hold on to.

The threat of the panic attack is gone, but he still can't find it in himself to go back to the inn, so he turns around to look at her. Clenching the stole around him, he feels his heart jump to his throat when he sees her in front of the open suitcase with his hoodie over her head, zipped up to her chin and her hand tightening its grip around it. As she takes a piece of chocolate, he feels something warm expend in his chest. It feels too good to be real. How could they be connected like this? How can he come to understand the full meaning of their connection if he isn't _with her_ anymore? He lets his body glide down against the tree and forces himself to close his eyes, fighting back his tears. His brain seems to have shut down, leaving his shattered heart all alone, surrounded by howling emotions that he can't seem to tame.

He doesn't know what to think anymore, but his body reacts. He stands up, arms still feeling empty, and for a moment it seems like he will never know happiness again if he doesn't immediately get to Lydia. He doesn't have to look at her to know their bodies are aching to follow the same choreography, to maintain their connection. When he feels another wave of panic overwhelming him, he knows she feels it too. That knowledge is worse than the sensation of panic itself.

He is pacing now, torn between reason that is commanding him to stick to his plan – though he has completely forgotten why – and that longing inside of him that would be so easy to soothe. Suddenly out of breath, he has to lean one hand on a tree to support himself. His lungs are tight and his legs are giving way under him. He drops to the ground and crawls until he can lean his back against a tree trunk.

He is losing Lydia. Maybe she is starting to forget about him, and their connection is slowly fading away. The sensation of loss is so strong that it reminds him of her catatonic body in Eichen House – her eyes wide open but her stare empty, her frail heartbeat under his palm and her cold skin. He crumples into tears. He thought he had _sensed_ her in that nightmarish place, thought he had been able to reach her somehow, and it had given him enough hope to come up with a plan to save her. But everything is ruined now and it's crushing him.

The silence is broken by her cries of desperation. They pierce right through Stiles's heart and he can't do anything but turn his head to look at her. She's huddled up on herself, sitting on the ground. A few strands of her hair escape the hoodie, but in the moonlight, Stiles doesn't even recognize their color. They are even paler than earlier, as if all the life has been drained from them. He bumps his head against the tree several times in frustration. He can't do this…

Then, Lydia suddenly stands, and Stiles doesn't feel their connection anymore. There is nothing between them but emptiness, and he feels himself get carried someplace else. Can the Ghost Riders take him without having to be there? Is this what it feels like to be erased from everyone's memory?

His heart is racing, and he stands up again. He isn't sure he'll be able to follow through with his plan… He is scared, and for the first time in a while, he is fully aware how young they all are, how they shouldn't have to face these kinds of situations. He just wants to get to her. He needs her.

Lydia isn't herself anymore. She is frantic, desperate, and when she takes the hoodie off, Stiles wants to rush to her, give her something warmer to wrap around herself.

He knows that if the taxi doesn't arrive soon, he won't be able to take it any longer. He's mirroring her every move as he nervously rakes his hand through his hair. He paces, taking a few steps towards her…then towards the inn, and not being able to decide what to do. The plan. He has to stick to the plan… But how could he leave her like this when she has become her own shadow? Her body is there, but her mind seems to have escaped.

Then, as if it was always meant to happen, something breaks inside of him. He mutters something underneath his breath as his body freezes while watching her, and he can't remember why he thought any of this was the right thing to do in the first place. He wipes his eyes and without waiting any longer, he rushes to her. As he calls her name, he can feel the strings around his heart loosen with each step, soothing his entire body.

She says his name before they collide, and hope bursts with the strength of a thousand fireworks inside of Stiles. He is still crying when his arms finally envelop her, finally filling the void between them.

The warmth of her body, the sensation of her hands and her hair give him a new breath. It feels like she is reshaping him, carving his body and mind out of a bundle of flesh and bones, and he swears never to part from her again. He has no idea what he saying to her, or what he is doing either because she is everywhere, and Stiles wants to give her all he is, all he has…if that's what she needs, _what they need_. Her lips graze his, but they are gone so quickly that he thinks he must have imagined it. He promises her countless times never to leave her. _Never again_. He kisses her again and again, because the sensation of her lips on his skin spreads shivers all over his body, and he wants to give her just as much as she is giving him. He wants to be enough. _God, please, let me be enough_, he keeps thinking when she looks at him in between kisses. Because the decision he just made is maybe his most selfish one ever, and he is afraid.

But the most beautiful words escape her lips, hushing all those voices in his head, "I told you I couldn't forget you."

There's a spark in her eyes, something beautiful that reflects every light in the sky and warms his heart. He understands. He translates her words and answers in the same language.

"I knew you wouldn't. It was never a question."

She smiles at him, and even in the night, he can see all her colors, the green in her eyes, the pink on her cheeks and the flame in her hair.

"I missed you," she tells him, her voice catching as she squeezes his hands.

Stiles doesn't know how long they've been holding hands like that, but he has no intention of letting go. He brings her closer, whispering, "I missed you too," as he takes her in his arms, finally exhaling.

They sway slowly from right to left and left to right, completely obvious to the world around them, until they can both feel that their hearts aren't aching anymore. Stiles doesn't know if he is the first one to hold tighter, but he eventually presses harder into her back, responding to the melody of her faint moaning sigh.

She grasps his hair more tightly, rising on the tip of her toes. "We should go to sleep," she whispers in his ear, her lips skimming his skin.

Stiles nods against her and lays a kiss under her ear before pulling away.

* * *

Over the next few days, they would talk a lot about the events that followed.

After Lydia fretted about his shoulder and Stiles told her he didn't feel any pain, they walked in silence towards the inn…until they came face to face with the immobile silhouette of a Ghost Rider, and they froze.

Lydia wouldn't remember that Stiles had talked to her, squeezing her hand a little tighter and telling her to run. She wouldn't remember because at that very moment, her mind was entirely focused on trying to understand what the creature in front of them was trying to communicate to her. It would only occur to her later on that she was actually able to see it, and what that implied.

What she would remember very clearly would be the horror and anger she felt when she finally understood the meaning of the images the Ghost Rider was trying to impose on her. Without taking a second to ponder what to do, she cut the communication short and screamed, pushing Stiles aside at the last second and telling him to cover his ears. The Ghost Rider's body was catapulted against a tree, and it didn't stand up again. Around them, dozens of lightning flashes hit the ground, vanishing all the other Ghost Riders that were hidden in the shadows.

Incredulous, Stiles had gaped at Lydia. When she asked him, still panting, if he had heard what the Ghost Rider said, he answered that he had only heard her scream.

They walked back to the inn, unable to speak, their shaken minds trying to catch up with everything that had happened in a single night. Their hands remained interlaced, Lydia gripping Stiles's like one would grip a lifebelt in the middle of the ocean. He was the only thing making sense at that moment.

Since then, she hasn't been able to stop thinking about it.

The day is breaking at the horizon. The trees are slowly casting their shadows against the wooden floor, and the birds have been singing for a long time. The adrenaline has worn off, but sleep won't take her. There are too many things to sort out, to clarify, too many things that need to be said between them. And this time, Lydia fears that she has reached the limits of her ability to think.

The more she considers it, the more she thinks that what the Ghost Rider showed her wasn't meant to frighten her, like she first thought, but simply to present her what would happen if she accepted their deal. They had taken her for their ally, and the idea alone is enough to make her skin crawl. Did they really think all this time that she would be willing to _give_ _them_ Stiles? It was already inconceivable three days earlier, and the mere notion was even more unbearable now. Because now, she knows what he will have to go through, alone in a place that doesn't exist in space, or in time, being prey to the deepest loneliness and the darkest despair.

No matter what she does, her thoughts keep circling back to a vision that is slowly devouring her heart. She closes her eyes, fighting with all her strength against tears she knows are waiting to fill her eyes and burn against her eyelids. Her emotions are getting too strong, too violent and she doesn't know how to handle them, how to express them.

With a quick sweep of her wrist, she wipes her eyes and realizes she's quivering. It's stupid. She wishes she could turn around to face Stiles, shake him awake because he didn't have the right to tell her he loves her right before abandoning her – to leave her alone in a world where he wouldn't be there, but where she would still feel his distress. She imagines letting the tears run down her entire face, shaking Stiles while screaming her anger in rambling sentences…until all that raw emotion peeled itself away to reveal its core. A core she pictures like the one in an apricot, solid and too big for such a small fruit. A core with sharp edges that would keep carving its shape into her heart after staying concealed for so long. With what was left of her strength, she would have withdrawn it from her own heart to give it to him; bloody but solid, everlasting and as big as his heart. His wonderful heart, whose beats have never stopped influencing hers, ever since she allowed herself to accept more than Reese's from him. In a watery smile, she would tell him she loves him too and that she won't allow him to sacrifice himself. They would kiss _for real_ this time and with his beautiful hands, he would bandage her wounds. And she would finally know what it feels like, what his eyes really mean when they look at her.

But Lydia doesn't know how to do that.

Her anger is there. It's seething under the surface and it's giggling because it knows her.

Her anger knows her all too well. It knows that it is born out of frustration, out of an inability to express who she really is, what she really feels.

Her anger thinks it provides her protection, something she couldn't live without.

It has a petty voice, never too loud. Sometimes, her anger sounds like a snake, hissing in the ears of those she runs into.

Lydia tells herself that if her anger is a bit louder today, maybe that's because it's afraid. Maybe, if she wins this last fight against herself, it will lose its power over her.

When the first tentative ray of sunshine licks the horizon, giving an almost red shade to the clouds hanging low above the treetops, Lydia stands up. She tries to move as carefully as possible to not wake Stiles up and she glances at him. A smile crosses her lips. Never has a stake as been this high, this worthy.

And she feels ready.

As if challenging her and testing her will, a draft glides against her neck, working its way into her shirt. Without a second thought, she puts Stiles's blue hoodie on, relishing for an instant in the peaceful quietness that overwhelms her mind and the warmth spreading through her body.

"Is everything alright?" Stiles's voice startles her and she turns around. Just like her, he is fully awake. "You can't sleep?" he asks her while straightening up in the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees under the sheet.

Lydia shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. Her stare loses itself in the forest outside and she can't help but see a deeper significance in this odd red shade spreading in the sky in cotton balls above the trees, that seems to exhale blood. The fight has begun.

"I'm not tired."

"Me neither…" Stiles lets his voice trail off, and Lydia turns to look at him, waiting for the rest of his sentence which comes a few seconds later. "I… I can't believe you can see them now…" He closes his eyes and exhales slowly in his hands before letting them fall on his knees, revealing eyes redden by the lack of sleep and tears too often wiped in silence.

"Stiles…" Lydia feels inside of her a wave of warmth and she burns to join him, take him in her arms to reassure him, but as she is about to sit in front of him, he continues in a weary voice.

"I put you in danger, I should have waited until tomorrow. It was irresponsible to let you go in the middle of the night…"

Those words send an electric shock through Lydia, and she feels her entire body tense, her face closing up. Her anger's venom leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Excuse me? You should have waited for what?"

Stiles must sense the change in her attitude because he lifts his eyes to look at her and freezes? "I uh…"

"You should have waiting until morning to drop me by the side of the road like I'm a dead weight? Waited until morning to get rid of this helpless girl that's been nothing but a liability?"

Lydia is delirious, she feels it in her voice and in her hands that can't stop shaking. She hides them in the pockets of her hoodie and pours out all of her anger on Stiles, not even noticing that his face is turning paler with every knife-like word she throws at him. Her fingers graze a piece of paper in the pocket and she takes it out. She unfolds it and tosses it into the air. It falls between them, the words _Wild Hunt_ staring at the ceiling, accusing and useless.

"Lydia, I didn't—"

"How… _How_ am I supposed to feel when you say you love me and then try to get rid of me, to make me go back to Beacon Hills? How can you behave like the most perfect human being…to reassure me, and be gentler…and more considerate…more respectful than anyone has _ever_ been with me and then use it…to force me to forget about you? How can you give up on me? After everything, how…how can you give up on us?"

Her voice breaks over her last words, and she turns around to hide her tears. She knows Stiles must notice her shoulders jolting with sobs, but maybe if she doesn't make too much noise, he won't see her crying. Her anger is still smothering her. It grips her throat and she doesn't have any other recourse than to let her tears out because her heart is shattered in millions of pieces, and she refuses to take the easy option by putting up walls between them. Not now. She has to resist. She has to fight against the anger that hisses in her ear, tells her that he doesn't love her, tells her that he doesn't need her, and that he only said those words to make sure she would remember him.

He loves her. Of course, he does. She has always known.

Finding the strength to rekindle the hope that has led her here becomes more and more vital. She can't let her anger drive her crazy, but it feels like moving forward in slow motion against more and more violent gusts of wind, with a single match in her hand to lighten her way. A small amber-orange halo, flickering with each step.

Ever since she started talking, her anger keeps screaming the word _selfish_. Stiles has been selfish. It tells her that he was only thinking about himself when he left her. It tells her, her own distress never occurred to him, not even for a single second. Or even worse, it tells her that Stiles wanted to see her like that, to see her suffer for him…like he suffered for her during all those years.

But Lydia knows none of that is true, and she won't say that word. If she does, she will kill him because she pays enough attention to him to know that's what his own mind calls himself in his darkest hours. _Selfish_. She knows that is the exact word that makes him suffer when he thinks about the Nogitsune and about Allison… Her anger won't put that word in her mouth. She refuses to let it, and she struggles.

Instead, she keeps crying, feeling that she won't be able to stop unless Stiles helps her. She keeps talking in rambling sentences, telling him everything she felt on that road – about that dreadful void gnawing at her soul and about that piece of hope screaming inside of her, the one filling her with agony, leaving her unable to soothe it because she had no idea where it was hidden.

At one point, she realizes that she has stopped talking, and she hears Stiles crying. "I'm so sorry, Lydia…"

Inside, her anger hushed, and silence is slowly wrapping her mind in its comforting arms. She only hears the echo of her beating heart and Stiles's voice.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats.

She can't stand to see him like this, so she rushes towards him and kneels on the mattress. Her weight pulls his body to her, and she circles his shoulders with her arms as she sits next to him. She whispers his name, pressing him against her when she buries her nose in his hair. His scent invades her nostrils, and she slowly inhales, letting the softness of his hair carry her towards better tomorrows. She feels his hands tightening around her forearms and his head nuzzling against her chest.

He's trembling under his sobs and she doesn't need him to clearly articulate to understand what he's saying, "Forgive me, please forgive me. I'm begging you. I… I only did it to protect you. Lydia, you have to trust me…

Tears keep streaming down his face, dampening the fabric of her shirt. The sensation of his mouth moving so close to her breasts is making her dizzy and all the sudden, the only thing she can focus on is to stop him from crying.

She presses him tighter against her. "I forgive you, Stiles, of course I forgive you." Uttering between sobs, she kisses his skull with each word, letting her lips lose themselves in the softness of his hair once again. Her cheeks have never known such caresses, and she barely notices that she is letting out soft moans.

After a while, she feels Stiles loosen his embrace, and she pulls back. His eyes have never been this red and hers must be the exact same shade. He leans over the bedside table to retrieve the Kleenex box and hands one to Lydia before taking one for himself. Then, she kneels before him on the bed and they both blow their noses, letting their sobs slowly fade away.

When Stiles speaks, his voice is full and round, still swollen from the leftovers of his tears. "You have to believe me… The last thing I want is to leave you, but… It's not fair to you… If I want to protect you, I need to stop thinking about what I want."

Lydia remains silent. She feels her anger coming up to the surface at the same time as a budding fondness, and she understands that the fight against herself isn't over.

She wipes her eyes with the tissue and takes a few deep breaths.

"Stiles, what did I tell you after what happened with that werewolf earlier?" Before he has the time to answer or object, Lydia stands up and continues. "I _want_ to be with you. It's _my_ decision, and even if I'm scared, even if have no idea how we are going to cope…there's no way I'm leaving you alone. Do you hear me?" Despite her efforts, she can't erase her aggravated tone. So, she prays for some kind of divine intervention to help Stiles read the love in her eyes as well as in her smiles. "When I tell you I can't forget you, it's not just wishful thinking, it's the truth! I _can_ protect you against them, even more now that I can see them. You saw what my scream did, right? Separating from you isn't going to protect me. It's… It's…"

_Selfish_, whispers her anger. But she won't say that word, so she stops, breathless. When she glances at Stiles, she can see the pain in his eyes and her heart leaps to her throat. She doesn't need to pronounce it for him to hear it.

"Selfish?" he offers in a breath, lowering his head and closing his eyes.

"No, Stiles," she immediately replies as she moves closer and sits in front of him again, lifting his chin from the tip of her fingers. She doesn't know where the sudden softness in her voice is coming from but she can still feel her anger pacing somewhere inside of her. "No, Stiles, that's not what I mean. There's nothing selfish about any decision you made. Nothing."

His eyes finally shine with something else than tears and Lydia smiles. A tentative smile that he reproduces probably without noticing.

"Stiles, I… I'm tired of crying." She has to stop speaking to contain her sobs, and Stiles takes her left hand, keeping it close to his cheek to kiss her palm.

"Me too," he murmurs.

Lydia nibbles at her lips, not knowing how to resume. There are too many things in her head, too many emotions jostling around. She wants to take him in her arms, stop talking, and fall asleep pressed against him, but she needs to finish what she started.

"But I'm crying because you won't hear me when I tell you that I want to stay with you." Lydia takes her hand back and it is fidgeting on her lap. Her voice is weak because she fears that what she wants to say might drown under her emotions if she speaks any louder. "I'm crying because since we left Beacon Hills, I know you've been ready to let them take you…and that scares me. It scares me even more now that I know you actually would let them to protect me. But it won't protect me, Stiles, not at all. Because I'll do anything to find you again." She lifts her eyes and dives into his stare. Her heart is beating so loud and strong that she has to take a few seconds to swallow slowly and catch her breath. "Can we just agree that this wasn't a good idea and promise you'll never do it again?"

She watches as he nibbles at his lips, tilting his face slightly and she knows he has something to object. Before he even opens his mouth, a wave of desperation crashes over her, chilling her to the bones and releasing her anger from its hiding place, as if it had never been weakened. Lydia closes her eyes, only opening them when she feels the caresses of Stiles's fingers on hers.

"Lydia, it's not that I don't trust your abilities, or that I don't want you with me. It's so not that, it's actually the opposite, but – "

"But what?"

He doesn't answer right away. She understands that her two words have hit him like a slap in the face as he lets himself fall against the headboard, closing his eyes.

"Nothing…"

"Nothing?" She waits a few seconds, staring at him and expecting the rest of his sentence, but his eyes are filled with words she's afraid to hear, so she closes hers, sighing. There are tears at the corner of her eyes and it's a reflex for her to slowly stand up to hide them from him. She goes to the window, feeling her anger laugh at her. In the sky, the clouds seem to catch fire. "Nothing?" she repeats a little louder, turning around. Stiles is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her and his head in his hands. "What do you mean, _nothing_?"

She sees him slowly standing up to pace between the door and the bed. He shrugs and stops when he hears her question. When he speaks, his voice quivers faintly at the end. "You don't hear me anyway."

"Stiles…" she moves towards him with a firm step, but he abruptly turns, and she stops in the middle of the room. "But what?" She can hear the pleading tone in her voice and does nothing to hide it.

His hand covers his face and he heaves a long sigh. Tears of rage accumulate in Lydia's throat when she thinks he won't answer, but after a few seconds, he bursts out.

"_I don't want you to steal! _Okay? I don't want to turn you into a run-away and a thief. I don't want you to put yourself in danger for me, to lie for me, to risk your life and your future… You… Do you think MIT is going to overlook a criminal record? That you'll be able to work on some super-secret States project, or do ground breaking research for…I don't know…NASA?" He turns away and paces before coming back to her, then resumes speaking before she has time to retort. "The problem, Lydia, is that _as usual_, you don't care about yourself, or about your future, about your _life_. I have enough trust in you and Scott to know you'll figure something out, and that you'll save me. Why risk your future if we can find another solution? You're… You're too precious to risk everything for me…for anyone actually. I won't… I won't do those things to you too. I won't. I couldn't live knowing you felt obligated to sacrifice what you really want from life to save me."

Lydia gapes at him for a moment. She wasn't expecting that and can't think of an answer. Her mind rebels against the idea of putting her so-called future before him and against the idea that he would compare himself to other boys whose names have become irrelevant. But saying this would imply so much more and it's scaring her. Seeing his shoulders sag, she understands that he takes her silence for agreement, and her blood runs cold.

"No." She knows it doesn't make any sense, but it's the only word that summarizes what she feels. She's not prepared to let her anger or her fear take him away from her, so she repeats it, "No".

Stiles's eyes widen. Dawn's light is reflecting in them and colors them in a shade Lydia didn't know they could take. The brown is so bright that it's almost golden-orange, and Lydia is sure that if she turns around, she'll see that same color in the clouds.

"No?" His voice breaks her out of her reverie.

"No." She shakes her head and feels something caressing the top of her head and the rim of her ear, something warms that sends shivers all over her body and waves of solace inside of her.

A ray of sunshine just entered the room, a timid ray that makes its way through the particles of dust to reach Stiles. It lightens his eyes a little more, making them shine and when she turns around, Lydia gapes at the sky above the top of the trees. A deep orange illuminates the clouds and she can't help but see the same color in Stiles's eyes, as if he was the reincarnation of some ancient deity made out of the remnants of a perpetual sun. Everything becomes clear in her mind and when she turns back, words find their way to her mouth without her having to think about them. For the first time since she stood up, her voice is calm and confident.

"We can't go back in time. The Ghost Riders are hunting you, and they're not going to stop until they catch you, or until they're defeated. Do I want us to finish high school and go to college like any other teenager? Yes, of course. But we don't have that choice right now. Maybe it was taken from us back when Peter attacked Scott. I need you to understand that I'll do anything to save you – I'll skip as many classes as I need to, I'll lie, I'll spend all the money I have…and when it runs out, I'll steal if I have to. Hell, I'd hack the FBI's mainframe if would help you. I'll get rid of anyone who stands in my way. I'll do whatever it takes to save you, Stiles…whether I'm with you or not, whether I remember you or not. Do you know why? Because without you in my life, my _future_ doesn't appeal to me. It doesn't have any taste or any color. Because without you, I don't care about MIT and everything that comes with it. Because without you…I'll just be who I was before you came into my life, and that life…I don't want it, whatever it was. I don't feel obligated, Stiles and none of this feels like a sacrifice. Trust me, I know what it's like to…"

She nibbles at her lips, not knowing how to tell him that she doesn't do things for him like she did things for Jackson, or any of the others, but she can't find the words. She is still searching for the words she couldn't find earlier, the ones that describe that alternative to possessive, the ones that describe Stiles in his perfect nature, and she isn't even sure there are words for it.

"Stiles, believe me," she eventually continues, shaking her head. "It's not the same." He understands, she knows he understands.

As she speaks, she doesn't realize that they are both moving forwards. It's only when she feels his hands around her waist that she notices how close they are. This comeback to reality doesn't frighten her, so she doesn't take a step back. With a certain emotion stinging her eyes, she relishes in the feeling that her anger is gone and that instead, a wide peacefulness has overwhelmed her and comforts her. She cups his face in both her hands and pulls him closer to her until she feels the caress of his nose against hers. "I'll do everything I can to save you. Do you hear me? Everything."

Stiles doesn't react right away, so Lydia closes her eyes and gathers the courage to tell him those words that make her heart bleed after trying to punch their way out of for such a long time.

But before she can open her mouth, a murmur escapes Stiles's lips. "Why?"

Something in his tone and in his hands leisurely caressing her hips tells her he already knows. Their bodies find their way back to each other without the influence of their minds. Lydia realizes that all she has to do is glide her hand a little more, towards the back of his head, to bring him closer. She does, and when she feels his lips brushing against hers, she sighs. Stiles mimics her actions and moves his hand into her hair, letting it glide along her neck, his thumb following the outline of her jaw until it reaches the corner of her parted mouth.

"Because…"

She articulates that word in a single breath that Stiles immediately welcomes when he crashes his lips against hers. Lydia can't hold back a long moan, and she leans against him with her entire body, letting him kiss her lips one after the other. The hand he had laid against her hips moves to her lower back, helping Lydia to press herself even closer to him as she burns to feel every inch of him, every beat of his heart. She tilts her head a little, tightens her hands around his face, and parts her lips until she feels the softness of his tongue against hers. Stiles moans and the sound reverberates in her entire body. As she tries to catch her breath, Stiles's thumb, which hasn't left her jaw, pulls her back to him with a smile that contains so much tenderness that she has to stop to admire him for a second.

Then, she lets him steer her, put her arms around his neck before encircling her waist with both of his hands. Lydia doesn't know how he does it, but despite the strength Stiles uses to keep her against him, despite their noses and lips being crushed up against each other, she doesn't feel vulnerable. There's no desire to possess her in his embrace, no display of domination in the way he kisses her, and it makes her want to discover all the ways she can draw those noises out of him…a little louder each time until he completely loses control over what comes out of his mouth. The mere thought makes her shiver and there's a delicious warmth spreading through her entire body. She has never known this very specific tingle, and with a smile against his mouth, she tells herself that this must be a part of the answer she has been searching for. She doesn't know its name yet, but she knows she is getting a glimpse of that alternative she was looking for.

Stiles must feel her smile, because he pulls slightly back, leaning his forehead against hers and smiles too, grazing her lips with his breath before giving them a shy peck as she speaks. "It's the second time you didn't give me time to – "

Panting and smiling, Lydia is cut off by Stiles once again when he kisses her more eagerly. Their bodies resound with moans when Lydia parts her lips as soon as she feels his.

Stiles barely takes the time to pull back to whisper, "You don't have to", before he moves one hand up to her cheek to pull her closer to him and kiss her again.

They both take a sharp inhale, pressing against each other one last time before leaning back. Keeping her eyes closed, Lydia tries to catch her breath, relishing in the pressure of Stiles's forehead and nose against hers and the quick rhythm of his breath.

After a few seconds, she opens her eyes. Stiles is already watching her. Automatically, her fingers find his cheek and follow the outline of his smile and his jaw. She feels her own gaze fall from his eyes to his lips, barely noticing that his figure is bathed in the halo of orange morning light. Against her chest, she feels his heart beat as fast as hers. Lower, his hands clutch at her waist and Lydia realizes that they'll never be close enough to each other, but that she'll spent her life trying to meld into him if she has to.

Gathering the last pieces of her heart to give it to him wholly, she draws a last breath of courage from his lips. "I love you, Stiles. I'll do everything it takes to save you because I love you." She can't breathe until Stiles lays his lips against her again to give her back her breath.

"I love you too. So much… I love you so much, Lydia."

He keeps laying those words in a series of kisses against her lips, then her jaw and neck with a breathless voice before nuzzling his head against her shoulder. Lydia does the same, gliding her hands behind his back.

"Promise me you'll stop trying to sacrifice yourself."

She feels him nod against her and the last knots of tension still in her body suddenly vanish.

"I promise. From now on, it's you and me. But you have to promise me you won't sacrifice yourself either," he pulls away to look at her, and Lydia swallows thickly.

"I promise," she nods. "I promise." He is about to lean back against her neck, but Lydia has to say something more. "Stiles," her heart races, but it's important, and she knows her former self will never be able to come back once she says the words. "It's different…what I feel for you, the way I act…the choices I'm making. It's different because I love you like I've never loved anyone. This is me, with you… I'm _me_." She is sure she's not making any sense, but she knows Stiles is able to put the words in the right order and in the right sentences. "You believe me, right?" She stifles a nervous chuckle, "I mean, you're rendering me speechless, that has to be a sign, right?"

"I believe you." His smile illuminates his entire face, and Lydia can't resist kissing his lips once again.

They stay in each other's arms for a little while, waiting for their breaths to calm. Then, as if they are realizing all the accumulated tension has finally left them, they start to laugh. Lydia leans against Stiles, tucking her head in the crook of his neck and Stiles wraps her in his arms.

Lydia feels herself drifting off as Stiles slowly rocks them, his lips grazing the rim of her ear.

"I think we should go to sleep," he whispers, and it sends shivers all over her body.

She lifts her head and pecks his lips before nodding with a smile. Tomorrow, she'll have time to tell him what she learned from the Ghost Rider. But for now, the supernatural world can wait because these hours are _theirs._

They face each other in bed, their hands interlaced between them. Lydia feels the caress of a ray of sunshine on her back. It warms her just as much as Stiles in front of her. His eyes have an indefinable color now, as if they absorbed even more fragments of the Sun and are reflecting colors from other dimensions.

"What did you mean when you said I didn't have to? Did you know?" she asks him in a voice coated in tiredness and awe.

Before answering, Stiles lowers their hands to lazily kiss her lips. "I suspected… I hoped."

In his voice, she recognizes the inflections she likes so much, the ones it has when tiredness overwhelms him, and worries no longer clutter up his mind. She sees his stare drawing away from hers to fix something above her. A smile crosses his face.

"What?"

Stiles smiles again. "I'm never awake at this hour. That's why I never saw it."

His smile turns contagious, and a laugh bursts out of Lydia's lips as she lets the lazy rhythm of his words caress her ears. Stiles's gaze falls on her for a moment before setting higher above her shoulder.

"Your hair color… I've always told myself that there had to be a moment during the day when the sky had its color. It's now."

Lydia turns around, but it's more an excuse to collect her wits. She doesn't need to look at the sky to know its color. It's all in his eyes.

Then, she faces Stiles again and kisses him slowly – so slowly that it almost gets frustrating. But Stiles smiles against her lips and a delicious noise escapes his, so she keeps her pace.

"Is it what you do when you look at the sky? Look for my hair color?"

"Always. I'm always looking for you. Everywhere."

Lydia needs a moment to regain control over her beating heart after that answer. Stiles has a beautiful soul, she has always known that, but experiencing it is completely different. There are so many things she would like to ask him, she has so much more to learn about him, and if they weren't both exhausted, she could spend hours talking to him. But there's no rush, not anymore. For the first time in her young life, Lydia feels like she is holding a piece of eternity in her hands and she wants to spend every second savoring it.

They look at each other a while longer, their hands interlaced between them, lowered enough to allow their lips to lazily brush against each other once in a while. Lydia's eyelids are heavy and she eventually falls asleep without realizing it, answering faintly to Stiles's _good night_ with a _good morning_ that makes him smile in his sleep.


	5. White

**It has been a while since the last chapter and I apologize for the wait! I hope this will be worth it :)**

**The reason why it has been long is because I have another WIP and I'm reaching the last chapters. So, I'm going to focus on my other one for a little while to give it a proper ending and I'll come back to that one after. Don't worry though, I have plenty of ideas, it WILL have more than 8 chapters, I just still don't know how much exactly... And I've written down everything I wanted for the next ones ;)**

**That's my way to apologize in advance for the wait to come and reassure you about the fact that I WILL continue that fic.**

Intimacy has many faces.

It can look different, depending on the people it is shared with. Through the years, Stiles has learned that it can't be built out of nothing. There has to be something first. With Lydia, there was already so much between them, a connection so strong that he had asked himself many times what intimacy would look like with her. How could it be more? But just like his love for her, always finding ways to grow bigger and wider, to expand its own raw energy, intimacy always seems to be able to dig deeper.

Intimacy has many faces, and they can't be shaped alone. They can't be shaped with someone who isn't looking in the same direction.

Intimacy is a shy thing; a thing of wonder and surprises.

Stiles had no idea it could be so familiar with the right person. He had no idea Lydia had been chiseling the same figures with him, the same faces out of that strength between them years ago. He hadn't noticed that what they've been building was taking so much space between them. Now, they are both looking at it, marveling at its beauty. Neither of them has ever seen something so beautiful. Stiles knows they'll keep adding details, some colors here and there, but it was already there.

Intimacy has many faces; the first one has a blushing smile.

Leaving a small space between them when they went to bed so they could intertwine their fingers, Stiles and Lydia agreed to allow themselves one day. One day away from the world, away from the supernatural, and away from the Ghost Riders. Twenty-four hours to make-up for all the hours that have been stolen from their youth through the years.

It wouldn't be much, but it would be a start.

Stiles can't remember which one of them brought it up, but he remembers how fast his heart was beating when he told Lydia in a murmur, "Sleeping is a stupid waste of time. We should start our day now."

She smiled, letting her cheeks turn into two beautiful rose buds. "Yeah… But I know how you get if you don't sleep… You'll be grumpy all day."

He smiled too, and they kissed lazily, letting their foreheads touch before closing their eyes and drifting off, keeping a small distance between their bodies that neither of them dared crossing.

But a little while later, when their brains were bathing in some blissful sleep, they moved closer. Stiles heard his name articulated by Lydia's tired tongue, and he answered with hers. He offered his arm to her head, nestling her in the crook of his neck and letting her seek his warmth. Then, he pressed her against him, lowering his head and searching for her mouth in an unconscious movement. She had met him halfway and they had kissed again in a lazy torpor, Lydia's hair filling the crook of his elbow and his other hand cupping her cheek.

They had fallen asleep quicker than they ever had.

When Stiles wakes up to a shooting pain in his shoulder hours later, he realizes that just like the first one, the second face of intimacy is actually familiar because he's already had glimpses of it during the past three days.

It's sighing in his arms, and it's mesmerizing.

Lydia is asleep and must be dreaming because the corner of her mouth twitches from time to time. She is beautiful and so much more that it takes Stiles's breath away.

Sometimes, she parts her lips and the bottom one drops to his bicep – the tiniest kiss in the world – his skin is grazed by her warm breath. It sends shivers in his entire body.

He loves it.

He loves her.

Her head must be at the sore spot in his arm and the pain is starting to make him dizzy, but having her so close, sleeping so peacefully in his arms, is worth all the discomfort.

In an attempt to shift Lydia's head a little, Stiles tilts his weight towards her, but he leans on his shoulder, and it sends an electric shock through his entire arm. He muffles a curse and holds his breath. Lydia moans in her sleep but doesn't wake up.

Knowing that it's either waking her up softly now, or with a start later when he can't tolerate the discomfort anymore, he fully leans over her, trying to forget about his pain. He lets his fingers skim the rim of her ear and strands of her hair, laying kisses there from the tip of his lips. When he can feel her react, he calls her as tenderly as possible between caresses.

Lydia opens her eyes, and her face is immediately lit up by a gorgeous smile. Stiles's heart skips a beat, stopping time to let him marvel at her.

"Stiles…" She whispers his name too, because their names seem to be the only things they can remember when they are this close. Her voice is coated with sleep and something that goes straight to his stomach, warming his entire body. He has almost forgotten about his pain when she lifts her head to give him a kiss, but the movement sends another shockwave through him, and he winces.

"Stiles… What happened? Did I hurt you?" She reacts instantly, leaning on her elbow to free his arm completely. The sudden pain forces him to collapse on his pillow, and Lydia runs her hand over his face and arm. "I'm sorry, I… I didn't realize…"

Dazed by her caresses and the mild tickling her lips are leaving in their wake, Stiles doesn't have the time to object when she tells him she'll give him more space on the bed. Only when he sees her move her pillow a few inches away from him does his heart wake him up by beating stronger.

"No, no, it's alright… C'mere..."

He uses his right arm to straighten up a little and with a hand on her hip, pulls her to him. It takes him only a few seconds to realize that he can feel the warmth of her porcelain skin under the fabric and he freezes, pulse pounding against his temple. He should take his hand off, but he is mesmerized, and his thumb draws circles over her shirt.

A giggle escapes Lydia; beautiful white petals sent through the air. It breaks Stiles out of his reverie, and he lifts his stare to see her nibbling at her lips. They freeze, staring and laughing nervously, until Lydia has the idea to switch places so Stiles can lean on his good shoulder.

He has to clear his throat before answering a hoarse, "Good call."

He isn't sure he has ever seen her like this. The word happy comes to his mind, but it's more than that and it's incredible. Maybe she's dazed a little too, because for a few seconds, neither of them is moving and they end up laughing nervously again in an outburst of wooly notes.

When she lands on his right side, they stare at each other a little longer, letting their laughs slowly fade in their throat. Sleep is wrapping them in its blanket again, and Lydia finds refuge in the crook of Stiles's neck, blushing. He realizes that if he makes her as nervous as she makes him, they must be doing something right. He keeps one hand between them and put his other arm around her head, letting his mouth linger over her ear. Lydia lifts her head, tugging at her bottom lip and holding his hand while she cups his neck to kiss him. Their lips are tentative and it's so soft that Stiles is sure his heart has stopped beating. He is tempted to part his lips to kiss her deeper and let her tongue fill his mouth like she did earlier, but Lydia seems to enjoy this tender intimacy as much as he does. They keep getting drawn to each other's lips and share millions of tiny kisses, some lingering more, exploring more than others, but all of them building a third face of intimacy that Stiles has never seen before. He wants to know it more.

That one leads the way to a fourth one.

Stiles can barely make out its features because it hides with the slightest movement. It's so shy it only appears when they are half asleep. It seeks more warmth, more closeness and its heart beats fast.

It starts appearing when Stiles glides his hand to the back of Lydia's head, fingers tangling with her hair, bringing a sigh out of her lips that lands on the skin of his neck like a kiss. He gulps and lets his hand slowly travel down her back until it finds that hollow space right above the curves of her ass, that space where he's discovering how well his palm fits. Her sigh turns into a soft moan as she adjusts herself closer to him, tucking her own hand behind his ear and carefully sliding a tentative leg between his thighs. He presses her body closer against his and lets her do the same. He can't hold back his moan. They are so close that Stiles can feel every inch of Lydia's body against him. He knows she can feel it too, and that thought is enough to make his blood pulse harder, faster, almost making him dizzy.

They fall asleep like that, hoping to be close enough so that even Morpheus himself wouldn't be able to fit between them. But he always does and each time, they have to find ways to nestle tighter against each other.

Intimacy has many faces.

And Stiles can't wait to meet the other ones.

* * *

It's around 9 A.M. according to what Stiles gathers from the noise and voices in the hallway when he wakes Lydia up with a gentle kiss. He is going to the bathroom, and he doesn't want to scare her if she wakes up to an empty bed.

She watches the door the entire time and feels her heart beating stronger until he finally opens it. It feels so good to long for someone knowing he is coming back to her in a matter of seconds. She doesn't even care about the wide smile on her lips when he rushes back under the sheets. She welcomes him with her arms wide open, and their bodies find their way back against each other. He brings with him a breeze of fresh air and the scent of the cotton flower hand soap, but his body is still warm.

He falls back asleep, but she doesn't.

She can't stop marveling at him, and her heart is racing just at the breathtaking sight of him. It feels like she is losing control over her emotions, over her own body, and it doesn't scare her. It should, but it doesn't, because everything feels right. She could stay like that for an eternity, remaining as still as possible in the arms of the one her heart has always needed – has maybe always loved without her knowing it – and dozing to the sound of the drumming in their chests.

Long minutes pass by, Lydia knows it because his breathing keeps changing. Sometimes, it's long and deep, but when his consciousness is surfacing, it's shallow and quick. The pale sunlight brushes past his skin, casting delicate and fleeting shadows of his silhouette against the snowy white sheets. Lydia has never been so thankful to the sky for being this clouded because the soft light is enveloping Stiles in a perfect heavenly halo.

Lydia's blood pulses for a few seconds against her temples because his eyelids have fluttered long enough for her to have a glimpse of the warm brown behind them, and she is sure she saw a glimmer in his irises. He understood she was watching him, and she expects a remark. Nothing mean, no… Never from him… But she thinks he is going to gently scoff, and she waits, almost holding her breath and already feeling self-conscious.

But nothing comes. Maybe he hasn't felt her stare on him after all and she is surprised to realize that it disappoints her. She wants him to know she's admiring him.

So, she takes his hand in hers and as she presses it against her racing heart, she pushes back and loses herself in the contemplation of his face. Never had she dared staring at him like that and she can't move, gaping at him. Their hands tighten their grip, and she can feel his pulse in his knuckles. She realizes that he is fully awake, completely aware of what she is doing. It's probably the most intimate she has ever been with someone, and it intimidates her…but she wants to understand. In an almost hypnotic state, with her chest turned into a sounding board and her heart filling her ears with its pounding, she lays a shaking hand on his face, grazing his skin and following the outlines of his forehead, his cheek, his jaw… Her movements are slow, almost hypnotized, the complete opposite of the frenzied rhythm in her chest. She gulps and brushes his lips, lingering a little there as he parts them slightly to let out a warm breath that tickles her palm when she skims past his nose and ear. She does it from the tip of her fingers, forcing herself to stay focused on his face when she burns to go a little lower to feel the beating of his heart. But not yet, it's too soon. It won't only indicate his heart rate, and the beating of his heart is much more than that. It's a secret that isn't hers to take. So, like a question, she presses his hand even closer to her own heart and brings her face nearer to his.

Then, she murmurs against his mouth those three words that take up the entire space in her mind. "I love you."

Stiles lays his hand flat against her heart and kisses her back. He opens his eyes. "I love you too."

A smile tugs at their lips, and Lydia lets him take her hand to bring it against his heart. Its beating is hard, its pace quick, and Lydia has no desire to withstand the pull between them, so she brings her mouth to his again.

There is so much tenderness and love in his embrace when he moves to hold her in his arms that her throat tightens, and she has to make an effort to take a breath. She wants to tell him all the words swirling in her head, she wants to show him the ones that keep moving her heart in their waltz, but Stiles is quicker and wipes a tear from her cheek.

"What's wrong, Lyds?"

"Nothing…" she answers, beaming at him. His hand on her cheek is warm, reassuring. "You're incredible… I've—"

She searches for the right words. She wants to tell him that no one has ever looked at her like that, and that she has never been touched like that. She wants to tell him she likes that intimacy because it comes to her naturally, because the voices in her head are quiet and there are no questions in her mind. She likes that because he lets her take the time she needs, and it makes her want to give him the time he needs too. She wants to tell him so much more… But those words would invite other people in the room, and that is inacceptable. She doesn't want to think about them. He understands that, she knows he already knows everything, but that's not enough. Words matter.

"You can tell me anything, you know," he breaks her train of thoughts with a voice so gentle and eyes filled with so much understanding that she completely forgets about what she wanted to say.

"Not now. I just want us now." Letting these words out offer her some solace. These hours are theirs, only theirs.

"I want that too."

There are so many other words hidden behind his response that Lydia feels her throat tighten again. Stiles tilts his entire body to free his arm and lie on his back. Lydia lets him draw her against him and leans her head against his chest, nuzzling in the nape of his neck. A sigh of contentment escapes her, and she lets her hands seek the warmth of his skin. He quivers when she finds his hip under his shirt and draws circles from the tips of her fingers. She is lulled by the rhythm of his heart against her ear, a rhythm that finds its way through her own body and echoes in every empty space, filling them with his presence. There are waves of warmth and electricity between them, and it feels good. It feels like so much more than attraction, more than anything she has ever known, and she isn't sure if she really understands it. But for the first time in her life, it doesn't frustrate her. She looks forward to the steps they'll take together to explore every corner of the universe behind the door they just opened. Some of these steps will probably be clumsy, awkward even, but she loves them already because no matter what, they'll be in the right direction. Their own direction. A little voice in her head tells her that it's so natural with Stiles because it's familiar, because she had already started to explore that universe with him. How did she never notice it?

Lydia loses all sense of time in his arms, lulled by his faint caresses, the regular beating of his heart, his warm scent, and the cozy silence around them.

Later on when their stomachs growl, they both laugh, and Stiles runs his hand through her hair, cupping the side of her head.

"How about starting our day with breakfast?"

Her stomach answers for her with another growl, and they laugh again.

When they get up, they reach for each other at the same time. Without even considering parting to change their clothes, they step out of the bedroom, hand in hand with hearts as light as spring clouds.

* * *

The kitchen is closed at that hour, or maybe it hasn't opened yet. They have no idea what time it is and have no desire to know.

Stiles's stare is locked on Lydia's when Millie checks his shoulder. Lydia wants to thank her, to say something, explain what happened, but all she can come up with is an excuse about falling against a tree. It makes Millie smile, and the woman nods with a knowing look. When she asks Stiles if by any chance, he has noticed some wounds that miraculously healed during the night, Lydia understands that she knows, and they all stop talking about it because Millie also seems to know that they need this day. One day of bliss, one day to forget about everything that isn't each other.

The thought that Millie might be an angel sent to help them vanishes at the periphery of Lydia's brain when her eyes find Stiles's again. Millie is between them, and it feels excruciating to be so far from him. The pain is almost physical, it builds a bundle of nerves in Lydia's stomach, and she can't seem to stand still.

Millie says something about opening the kitchen and helping them cook something. As they both nod, Lydia rushes to Stiles and their hands automatically find each other. He discreetly lays his lips on her temple, and they follow Millie.

They may have left the comfort of their bed, but Lydia marvels at their ability to sustain the cocoon they built under the sheets. It is everywhere – in their fingers when they brush in the semolina or when they reach at the same time for a knife or vegetables. It's in their crooked smiles and in the blush of their cheeks. It's in the way he softly calls her name and in the way her heart reacts to that sound. It's also in the goosebumps she spots on Stiles's forearms when she comes closer to him. She doesn't even need to lay her hand on him, her proximity seems to affect him just as much. It builds a fire in her stomach, something that cuts her breath and makes her nibble at her lips.

With each bit of contact they share, Lydia understands what she has been missing her entire life a little more. Privacy. They are not alone in the room. Millie is there too, but she doesn't notice anything because those signs of affection aren't supposed to display something for the entire world to see. Lydia thinks she should have known it would be like this with Stiles. With him, his touches are for her, just for her. No one else is supposed to witness them, and she doesn't know why she ever settled for anything else than that.

Even with another person beside them, Stiles manages to make her feel like they're the only ones in the room. He never draws Millie's attention to them. The faint graze of his thumb against her waist when he passes behind her reminds her that they are alone. His lips whisper it softly to her temple when he leans towards her to grab something, shielding her from the rest of the world and allowing her to beam at him for a second. His body sings it in millions of languages every time she mimics him by giving him all her affection.

She is busy cutting slices of bread as Stiles talks to Millie. She doesn't know what they are talking about, Lydia is only focused on Stiles: the music of his voice, the laughter behind his tone, the happiness… It makes her smile. She doesn't think she has ever heard him sound this happy and she can't help thinking she has a lot to do in it.

He laughs again.

A real laugh.

It's beautiful and raw, genuine and a little off key, but it sends shivers running up her forearms.

She loves it.

She loves him.

She turns to watch him, but it's already over. He must feel her gaze on him because he turns to look at her and without breaking his conversation, he comes closer. There is something in his eyes, something about their deep brown in this light that renders her speechless. It makes her cheeks heat up, and he must notice it because he suddenly looks just as flustered as her.

He is grabbing plates and glasses that he lays on a large tray next to her when she feels his thumb gliding from the small of her back to the top of her ass. It doesn't linger more than a second and he doesn't even apply any pressure, but it's enough to send an electric shock through her entire body and a wave of warmth in her lower stomach. She faintly clenches her fist on the marble counter to avoid thinking of what it would feel to have his entire hand flat on her, squeezing a little.

He is next to her, but she already longs for him, for his touch, for his kisses… It tugs behind her ribs so hard that she only remembers how to breathe when her eyes find him. She doesn't care what she looks like, if her cheeks are red, if she is out of breath and hasn't even showered. She just needs his stare on her. He instantly meets her gaze and her heart melts when she only spots love in it. He doesn't look at her like he owns her, or with a smug and pleased smirk. He looks at her with genuine happiness. It only makes his wink even more endearing.

Lydia doesn't know who she is anymore when she mouths "I love you" to him, but she loves that version of herself because it makes him blush adorably. She passes behind him, and when she lets her fingers discreetly follow the same path over his clothes, she hears the sound of his breath catching. A smile crosses her face because if she is making him feel as dizzy with love as he does, they must be doing something right.

When they are done in the kitchen, Millie gives them an old drop cloth that they take outside and spread in the middle of a field of daisies. They set their improvised table and sit cross-legged next to each other, their knees touching. They eat, talking quietly about food, about how they would both order a beacon cheeseburger next time they are in a diner because if their improvised vegan lunch is delicious, they are starving for something familiar.

Stiles is drowning in Lydia's stare, paying attention to everything she does because he wants that day engraved in his memory forever. When she says, "It's funny, you always chew left first," he understands she does the same. It makes him wonder if she realizes how many I love you are hiding behind her words. Probably not.

He tucks a daisy behind her ear, and she blushes in another silent I love you.

After they eat, they lie down and talk. They talk about how much more they want to know about the world, about their most secret wishes for college, for life, for everything…

After a while, their voices meld with the rustling of the wind in the leaves and with the birds' songs, and Lydia falls asleep under his gaze.

* * *

Inside the inn, Millie is doing the dishes with her husband Jack, and she spots Stiles and Lydia a little further away. The weather isn't ideal, but the sky seems to be lower than usual, and the clouds have somehow melded with the light, creating a dazzling atmosphere. Millie can't seem to look away from the young couple. Their presence alone seems enough to soften the blinding purity of the sky. They are all she can see, dressed in the old clothes she gave them – plain white shirts and light blue cotton pants – garments stained with paint, witnesses to a time when the inn was a dream coming to reality. They look so innocent like that; two characters from a pastoral novel, two young lovers from ancient Greece who would have lost their way through the centuries. It's a scene as old as the world itself. The boy gives the girl something to drink. She takes the glass from his hands and kisses him before taking a sip. They look at each other, and Millie forces herself to focus her attention on the dishes.

She is afraid for them. They know things. They have probably seen more than she can imagine, and she wishes she could do more to help them. She startles when Jack lays a hand on her shoulder.

"Look…" he tells her, continuing the conversation they had started the day before, "all we can give them is what we give to everyone who comes here – a place to rest until they find enough strength to keep going. You did really well. Remember how they were when we found them? They'll be alright."

"Yeah, I hope…" Millie replies.

A tightness grips her throat and smothers the air in her lungs, so she lifts her head and sighs. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile.

She doesn't know what it is, but there is something about those kids, some kind of aura that envelops them and reflects all the colors around them. Millie would recognize that light anywhere. It's the same one that brought her where she is today, to the only place in the world resembling her, with the only person in the world that made sense.

It's a blinding kind of light that emits all the colors of hope, and she wonders if maybe it isn't even coming from the sky.

Maybe they'll be alright after all.

* * *

It's colder when Stiles opens his eyes. The white light has dimmed a little, and raindrops start to play their soft music against the drop cloth. He leans over Lydia, gently cups her shoulder and brings his lips to her cheek, calling her softly. She sighs and turns her head, brushing the corner of her mouth against his.

"It's raining, we should head back inside."

But Lydia is looking at him with so much intensity, her green eyes flashing the way they do when she lets joy bloom all over her face. She is so breathtakingly happy that all he can do is pronounce his words in a strained voice.

She is surrounded in white, and she has never looked more like an angel. Around her, the daisies form a halo above her head. They are jealous. Stiles knows he could pick every one of them, and they would all tell him she loves him not. But he doesn't do it. He doesn't want to hear what they have to say because he can read all the truth in Lydia's eyes.  
Instead, he decorates Lydia's hair with them and tries to make a bracelet for her with six of them.

Lydia is watching him from below. The cloud white sky around Stiles is blinding, but his silhouette softens everything, and it hurts less when she stays focused on him. It's not the first time this thought crosses her mind.

Whatever the situation, things always seem to look easier when her stare finds shelter in his. Whether they are in the middle of a conversation with other people or simply looking at each other from across the hallway, her surroundings fade away, her sadness or anxiety dissipate like the morning fog, and all that remains is a deep-rooted happiness.

There's nothing to dissipate now, so she takes the time to admire him. Everything about him is both familiar and new. The same thought crosses his mind. She can see it at the way his pupils keep dilating and focusing, like he is lingering on every detail of her face, trying to photograph all those things he never noticed.

The sky breaks apart, and the scent of wet soil spreads all around them. It brings them both back to reality, and they quickly move to stand up.

Lydia spots a clock on a wall when they burst into the inn, but the hours blur in Stiles's laugh and in the warmth of his hand around hers.

They sit on their bed, and when Lydia tousles his wet hair with a fluffy towel that smells like jasmine, the hours vanish again in the glimmer of amusement she spots when he beams at her. There are strands of his hair pointing in every direction when she stops. His grin is broad, and he is a little out of breath.

She loves him so much, that she feels her heart beating in her throat. Stiles seems to know what she is thinking. He answers her thought with a peck on the cheek. But it's not enough, she needs to make him understand, so she lets her feelings meld into her breath. "I love you so much, Stiles".

There's something vulnerable in her eyes, something that he wishes he could make go away, just by looking at her. So, he does, trying to infuse her with a little of the strength he has always felt inside of him.

It must work because after a few seconds, Lydia continues, and that vulnerability leaves room for a brightness that goes straight to his stomach. "I feel silly for repeating that over and over again," she explains, "but I can't stop thinking about it." She brings a wet hand to his neck and pulls him to her until their foreheads touch. "I feel like I'm dying every time I don't say it. It's so strong, Stiles… I love you, I love you so much."

He lays a tiny kiss on her skin that lands on her left nostril. At first, he doesn't say anything, and Lydia is afraid she went too far. When she is about to add something, he leans back to look at her, and she doesn't know how to speak anymore. It's not the first time he has looked at her like that, but it's the first time she doesn't feel like she has to hold back.

She leans towards him, but when her lips brush against his, Stiles asks her in that tone of voice which she has always loved, "How do you do that? How do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

He lets his lips slowly travel over her mouth, jaw, and throat until they meet hers again. "Everything." And he kisses her, bringing their bodies closer with his hands around her waist.

Lydia wants to let their tongues greet one another, but their lips seem to find so many different ways to kiss that she quickly forgets about it because this is new, and she is getting addicted.

She is reminded of their little touches in the kitchen and realizes how wrong she was to think she knew what intimacy was. Because intimacy has many faces and none of them are shaped around questions and competition with the entire world. In less than a day, Stiles has showed her so many. Privacy, respect, love, slow discovery… She has never been happier to find out how wrong she has always been.

Suddenly, something twitches in her nose, and she has to push back to sneeze.

Stiles is softly laughing, running a hand on her back and along her neck after she tries to bury her face against his neck. "You're cute when you sneeze… You make that little noise when you try to hide it and then, you turn pink."

She lifts her head to look at him and raises an eyebrow, but Stiles is looking at her and all she can see are his perfect amber eyes reflecting the cold light outside in something that warms her stomach.

He turns to reach the nightstand and hands her a tissue. "We should probably change…" His voice trails off, stare still locked on hers. When she takes the tissue, his hand slowly reaches her cheek. She leans into his palm and tilts her head to lay a kiss inside. "Why don't you can take the bathroom so you can dry your hair?" he finishes.

Lydia doesn't know what is hypnotizing him like that, but she feels the need to ground him, make him come back to her because his mind seems to be drifting.

"Okay," she gets up but keeps his hand in hers and he blinks. "Maybe we could watch something after? Millie told me we could borrow her laptop."

"Yeah, good idea."

His tentative smile makes her clench his hand harder to get his attention. "Stiles… Is everything alright?"

Lydia doesn't know if it's her question, or the look of worry she must be displaying, but something changes in his expression and instantly, the shadow she saw darkening his stare is gone.

"Yeah, yes. I'm sorry… I was just… thinking about something, but it's alright." He punctuates his sentence with a peck on her nose, but she isn't convinced.

"Stiles, you can talk to me if something is bothering—" Her last words are swallowed by a sneeze and Stiles brings her closer to him to peck the top of her head, his fingers cradling hers.

"I'm fine, I promise."

Something is off, and she can feel it everywhere, but there is still so much tenderness and love in his kisses and touches that Lydia doesn't know if she can trust her judgment.

She stares at him and doesn't find anything in his eyes. "Okay…" she reluctantly replies, "I won't be long, I promise."

He nods and lets his mouth glide over her cheekbone. He is so close that Lydia can feel his heart beating a little too fast against her chest. She brings a hand over it and lays a kiss on his neck.

His lips travel to her ear, bringing his whisper closer to her core and her heart. "I love you."

They part from each other, and Lydia starts to walk backwards towards the bathroom door without letting go of Stiles's hand. She can't look away from his stare because she knows something is bothering him, and it kills her to see him holding back like that. But she needs to respect his needs too. He will talk to her when he is ready. She has to divert her eyes a second to find the handle.

That's when she hears Stiles's restrained voice. "Meet you here in five?"

Her heart beats a little faster, the sadness in his voice reaching straight to her soul. She opens the door and blows him a kiss. "Less than five, I promise."

He nods, smiling despite his obvious sadness.

She closes the door, and it feels like someone is pulling too hard on the string that ties their two souls. Just like the night before, when she had felt Stiles's absence through her entire being, she feels a biting wind shred the happiness around her heart into millions of pieces. Hurriedly, she takes off her pants and spots a towel under the sink. She reaches for it, but all of a sudden, she realizes that the only sound she hears is the pounding of her heart in her ears. It's too quiet in the bedroom, and panic overwhelms her at the thought that Stiles might have disappeared. Not even realizing she is only wearing her panties and a shirt, she rushes out of the bathroom with a racing heart. Stiles is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her and his shirt in his hand, tightly grasping the mattress. He is already looking at her when she opens the door and she understands he was about to call for her.

"Stiles…" In a heartbeat, she is kneeling on the bed behind him, hugging him against her. He wraps his arms around her, and she can feel him trying to breathe slower. "What's wrong?" She whispers as she lays her lips on the top of his skull, his hair tickling her nostrils.

Sobs are constricting her throat because she thought that opening herself to him would be enough to share everything, but it's not. Stiles is tormented by something, and she doesn't know what to do. She feels helpless and she shouldn't. Not with him. Her hand tightens in his hair, and she buries her nose in his damp curls.

"Please, Stiles, talk to me… What… What happened?"

He sniffs against her collarbone, and Lydia feels silly. She realizes something like this has never happened. She always knew what to do, how to hold him, what to say…

The night at the tree house comes to her mind. Stiles was upset, something was making him sad, and she hadn't done anything else but hold him, and he had thanked her. Words hadn't always been necessary between them. She had noticed that countless times. Why would it be different now?

As he still isn't talking, and as she feels his fingers grasping her shirt tighter, Lydia presses her body closer to his and whispers against his ear. "It's alright Stiles, I'm here. I'm not leaving you."

She breathes with him, keeps repeating those words, and he relaxes. The tension slowly leaves his body, and when he drops a kiss above the collar of her shirt, she lets out a long exhale.

They untangle from their embrace to find a more comfortable position. Just like during their sleep, their bodies find a way to curl up against each other without even having to think about it. They both turn towards the window. Stiles encircles her waist with his arm. She folds her legs beside her and leans her head on his shoulder. When his hand connects with the skin on her knee, Lydia remembers that she isn't wearing any pants, and she realizes that Stiles is shirtless. He must notice it too because his cheeks turn a pretty shade of red.

They hold hands in silence, and she lets her knees fall on his lap. Her heart skips a beat when she notices the warmth of his hand on her leg, and she watches his thumb drawing circles on her knuckles. For several delicious minutes, it feels like she is melting into him. She doesn't know if she is any help, she can only hope that what she is doing is still enough for him. It's so easy to just be with him that she wonders if he feels it too, if it really soothes him just like it soothes her.

"Are you alright?" she asks him. She doesn't know how to ask him if she is giving him what he needs.

"It's so easy with you, Lyds. I… I can't believe it. I mean I… I knew it, but… It's amazing… You're amazing." He lays a kiss on the top of her head, and the brightness in his tone unclenches her chest. "I just…" He lowers his head and seems to lose himself in his thought.

"What is it, Stiles?" Lydia whispers because she doesn't want to startle him, to push him too much. "I'm here, and I love you, you can tell me anything you want."

"I… I almost forgot that nobody remembers me… Not Scott, not my dad… I can't… Scott, he…" He closes his eyes, and Lydia feels his head sag against hers, so she brings her hand to his cheek, caressing his skin with her thumb. "He made me promise he would be the first one to know if anything ever happened… with you."

He blushes adorably, but Lydia can't find it in herself to smile because he looks so sad that it breaks her heart. Before she can reply, he brings her closer to him and leans his forehead against hers. "What if even if you save me, they don't remember me?"

"Then, we'll make them." Lydia doesn't even have to ponder her words or to push back any sadness. Nothing has ever been clearer in her mind. "We'll make them remember everything. The two of us will try to recover their memories, and if we can't do it, Deaton will help us find a solution. Stiles, if I can take back what the Ghost Riders stole from you, I'll find a way to give your dad and Scott their memories of you. I won't stop until I do, I promise. Do you trust me?"

He slowly gulps and Lydia sees the moment when her hope and determination reach him. It's subtle. It's all in his eyes. The veil that was clouding them dissipates, and the black of his pupils deepens a little, only increasing the brightness and the intensity of his stare. He nods, "Of course I trust you."

Lydia can feel the tension leaving him, and it fills her with joy because she doesn't know how she did it, but she helped him. Maybe that's another face of intimacy. That one, she knows she learned from Stiles. It's called attention, and it comes from mutual trust.

"I'm sorry," his throat is still constricted, but his voice his much lighter than it was a few seconds ago. "I didn't mean to bring that up… but I… I got overwhelmed."

"It's alright. We can talk about it if you want."

"No… No, later. Just… Let's just stay together as much as possible. When I'm with you… I don't think of anything else."

"Sounds good to me."

She lets her hand travel down his chest, relishing in the shivers forming all over his body and in the way he gasps when she caresses him more firmly. She is reminded of the night before, when she had checked his wounds. The goosebumps under her fingertips, his muscles twitching underneath the surface, his moles and the outline of his parted lips against the dim light, his nose, his eyelashes... Him... She remembers struggling to stay focused on her task, because the words you're beautiful were threatening to cross her lips. She let them almost slip earlier when he was staring at her with his tousled hair. Why not let them out now?

"Stiles, you're beautiful. I didn't tell you last night, but I wanted to." It feels so right to say it that she can't help repeating it. "You're beautiful."

He gives her temple a kiss and brushes the skin on her leg with his fingertips. "You're beautiful too."

"Thanks..." She kisses his jaw, marveling at how natural everything feels with him. "I have an idea…" she whispers against his neck, letting the warmth in her stomach spread through her entire body when she feels his nails under her knee. "Why don't we get a little more dressed and then go to the kitchen? We could grab something warm to drink and maybe something sweet too…since our desserts got drenched before. Then, we can come back here…maybe undress a little…and snuggle under the sheets while we watch something. How does that sound?"

"Amazing."

She can feel his breath close to her nose, and it's intoxicating. When she realizes his lips are looking for hers, she feels her heart stop for a second, and it makes her dizzy. She sighs and finds all the air she has been missing when their mouths meet.

And just like that, Lydia realizes how different physical intimacy can feel like when it's surrounded by all these other features.

* * *

Sties returns to their bedroom with Millie's laptop to set things up. With a few cake slices on a tray and hot cocoa, Lydia is suddenly reminded of the first time she slept in Stiles's bed a few month ago. At first, she doesn't understand what triggered the memory, but she catches sight of rice pudding next to her and she lets her mind wander, a faint smile hovering on her face.

She had woken up from an hours-long fugue state in front of the Stilinski's doorstep. It was still early in the evening. Stiles had opened before she even knocked and pulled her inside without asking any questions. A fugue state that long hadn't happened in a while, but from the moment he had wrapped her in his warmth, in one of those hugs he had perfected, Lydia understood he would never forget how to take care of her in those cases. With a pleading stare, she asked if she could spend the night, and without a hint of hesitation, without even averting his eyes from her, Stiles had said yes. Lydia still doesn't know how she gathered the courage to ask that question, but she had rarely felt as proud of herself. The Stilinski home had a warmth her own home was lacking, and she needed it.

In the morning, she had woken up to an empty bed and was scared. Slowly, she had stepped out of the bedroom, dressed in one of Stiles's shirts and a pair of lacrosse shorts. It all smelled like him. Stiles was talking to Noah in the kitchen. She didn't stay long because what she had heard was already making her blush, and she didn't want to eavesdrop. She understood that Stiles didn't know what to bring her for breakfast because he didn't want to make something as dull as pancakes or scrambled eggs, but he also didn't want to scare her with something too much. His father had suggested surprise pudding rice, something that apparently always made Stiles happy. After that, she had stepped back into the room with a grin she couldn't contain and hugged his pillow tight, inhaling his scent deeply.

With shaking hands and a tentative, crooked smile twenty minutes later, Stiles laid the tray in front of her after waking her up softly. He had even added a beautiful white and purple wildflower that she decided to tuck behind her ear.

Stiles had brought her rice pudding, slices of chocolate cake, fruit, coffee, and several different kinds of milk for her coffee because he couldn't remember which she preferred.

In that moment, neither did she.

Already longing too much for him, Lydia forces herself to break out of her memory and adds rice pudding to her tray.

* * *

"It's the same one!" Stiles exclaims, eyes still closed and with something beautiful in his voice when she feeds him a spoonful.

They are sitting cross-legged against the pillows without having decided what to watch. Their bare feet are brushing against each other, sending regular tickles up her entire body.

"Yeah, with almond extract."

"It tastes like the rice pudding I used to make for my mom."

Lydia doesn't know if she is more taken aback by his statement, or by how easily it comes out of him. She tries to apologize, to tell him she didn't know it was linked to his mom, but he cuts her off, shaking his head and taking her hand.

"It's alright, Lyds. Really. It's the only happy memory I have from her in her last weeks. I love it."

He tells her it's the only recipe Claudia could remember. As her taste senses had weakened, she always added a lot of spices, and it had become a game for Stiles to guess what they were. The result was often disgusting, but his mom was herself in those moments, so no matter whether it was at 9 P.M., or during school, or even at 3 A.M., Noah always made sure Stiles was there. One day, Stiles had prepared rice pudding for her with a surprise ingredient. She kept asking for it, hoping to guess what it was, calling it his surprise rice pudding and Stiles still remembers the look of genuine happiness on his mom's face when she had figured out the secret ingredient. "Almond extract!" she had exclaimed in delight when they were queuing at the cinema. They had jumped up together with excitement, holding hands and laughing so loudly that they had scared everyone around them. Stiles only remembers how happy the rest of the day had been. Her mom had been herself for hours, and his father had even left the sheriff's station to join them. It was wonderful.

Lydia has tears in her eyes when Stiles finishes his story, so she puts the tray aside and nuzzles up tight against him.

"I'm sorry, Stiles… If I had known, I wouldn't have. It's just… That day, I overheard your dad and I thought it would make you feel better."

"It does. Really, I mean it." He seals his promise with a peck on the top of her head before resuming. "I know it's sad, but I love that memory. It reminds me that I helped my mom in her last days. That's important for me."

"Then, I'm happy," she replies in a whisper as she lifts her head to cross his stare. He trusts her – it's written all over his face – but she has to make sure of one last thing. "I didn't cross a line… Did I? You would tell me if I did… Wouldn't you?"

"Lyds…" He is already smiling, and his hand reaches out to cup her cheek, but she stops him, taking his hands to bring it to her lips. It cuts him off for a few seconds and he exhales slowly, kissing her temple and sneaking a hand around her waist to snuggle up against her. They both chuckle faintly, and all Lydia can focus on is the weight of Stiles's cheek on her skull, the imprint of his lips. It feels like a cocoon. Lydia is wrapped in Stiles and she can sense his features relaxing. Something shifts in the atmosphere when he resumes. "You've never crossed any line with me. You've always known how to read me."

"Really? You really think that?"

"Yeah… It's nice. Actually, it's amazing to have someone like you in my life…"

Lydia feels her heart speed up, and a smile crosses her face. She feels like that time he told her she looked beautiful the night of the Winter Formal, except this time, she doesn't hide her emotions. But Stiles continues before her thoughts have the chance to form words in her mind.

"Besides...what kind of line could you have crossed here?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, I wouldn't want to upset you by bringing up a memory I'm not supposed to touch, you know?"

His fingers craddle her chin, and he lifts her head towards him. His smile makes her blush. "There's no such thing." He pecks her lips. "I wanna share everything with you, Lydia. Everything. I want us to be able to cry together, laugh, argue and make-up. I don't want you to think there are lines you're not allowed to cross. There are no lines when it comes to you. None."

Words are failing her. There is a fog in her mind, and she can't focus on anything other than Stiles's words and his eyes – so close to hers, so luminous they envelop all her thoughts in a misty light. It's his fingers brushing her cheek and his breathy laugh grazing her lips that dissipate the fog. She doesn't have to lean a lot to reach his mouth, and she kisses him with all the tenderness she finds in her heart. It's slow, so slow that she is afraid her heart is going to jump out of her throat. Neither of them tries to go further, letting their heartbeats synchronize, like two long lost friends having their first talk in years. A long and quiet talk that only ends when their bodies are exhausted, because even if they know there will be more, the pleasure of discovering each other for the first time is incomparable. Lydia had never realized anticipation could feel so good. Unless this is how Stiles affects her. The thought makes her smile, and her smile reaches Stiles.

"What?" he asks her in a low voice, his lips tickling hers and sending shivers all over her body.

She gives him one last kiss before laying her forehead against his. "I want that too. No lines, no excuses, no walls... Just you and me. I don't want anything between us either."  
Memories of her pushing away with a sarcastic reply or a quick movement of her body cross her mind, and she has to laugh at herself. That time is over, nothing is going to stop her from being whole with Stiles now, not even herself.

"Sounds perfect," he says.

"You're perfect." It makes him smile and snort, so she repeats it. "You're perfect and I love you."

But then, it's her turn to snort and smile when he tells her, "Stop stealing my thoughts. I love you too…"

There are other things she would like to tell him, but she still doesn't know how. Maybe it's for the best, maybe some things need to be kept for later. When Stiles brings her closer to him, encircling her shoulders to let her rest her head on his chest, she understands that she is right. Words aren't always needed.

At that moment it occurs to her again how familiar this is… Him… Her... This…

They've been building this the entire time, and maybe that's another part of the answer. They trust each other because they know each other, and that's probably the most important face of intimacy.

"Do you know what almonds represent?" His constricted voice breaks her out from her thoughts. She knows the answer. She hadn't thought about it, but it makes sense and it tightens her chest.

"Immortality?" Her voice is barely a whisper. Maybe she shouldn't have answered, but as soon as the word is out, she feels Stiles hand squeeze her waist and his lips brush her skull. She lifts her head to look at him.

"Yeah…" he snorts faintly. "I thought it would help her stay alive."

He smiles at her. She would expect a sad smile, but it's not sad. Suddenly, she remembers that when he was a kid, Stiles had found an answer to his mom's death. It gives her the courage to reply. "Maybe it did. Maybe it gave her back her memories and now, she is watching over you and your dad."

This time, she doesn't even worry that she crossed a line, because his stare lights up. Stiles doesn't need to say anything for Lydia to understand that her words are reverberating through him. For a second, his eyes shine brighter than she has ever seen and the colors around them seem to blend, swallowed by the spark in his irises. He doesn't answer, only nods with a knowing smile.

Intimacy has many faces, Lydia understands. What's so incredible about the ones she has recognized is that she already knew them – they just didn't have a name yet. They are painted in thousands of colors, the petal of his cheeks, the Sun in his irises, the true blue of his heart… and many more.

Stiles has all of them inside of him – they radiate, and when they reach hers, they splash everything around them, mixing to create a perfect white. The kind of white that holds every color, revealing its secrets every time they scratch the surface. They can draw whatever they want with it, imagine all the universes they want. And it feels like it will never end, like there are hundreds of possibilities for them. It feels endless, boundless. It feels like something they will never tire of because the surface keeps expanding. Because together, she and Stiles can shape everything they want out of anything.

And it feels a little like they are giving love all its colors back. All the colors circumstances and life took away from them. All the colors that had faded after being shared with the wrong people.

And painted in those colors… intimacy and love… they look a lot like hope.


End file.
